Flicker
by drwatsonn
Summary: "They used to shout my name – now they whisper it." Born a Ranger, before thrust into a world of blood and deceit, Saf now lives a quiet, uneventful life of self-exile to escape her lineage and her past. But when an old friend stumbles upon her unexpectedly and offers her a chance of redemption by joining a quest, who is she to refuse? Thorin/OC
1. 1: How a Story Begins

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Full Summary: **_"They used to shout my name – now they whisper it." Born a Ranger, yet raised as something much darker, Saf now lives a quiet, uneventful life of self-exile to escape her lineage and her past. But when an old friend stumbles upon her unexpectedly and offers her a chance of redemption by joining a quest, she sees it as either a blessing or a curse – what it is, she cannot say yet, for there is a long and perilous road to take before the end of all things. But who is she to refuse the whims of a meddlesome Wizard, especially when a rightful King with a spirit of iron and a heart of stone is involved?_ Thorin/OC

**Beginning Author's Note: **_Hello, all, and welcome! I should really stop getting myself into these types of situations, eh? This is currently the third Hobbit fic I am now working on, but I had to write this as it's kind of my coping mechanism for the last movie, even though it hasn't come out in my country yet *sigh* But this story was inspired by the song 'Yellow Flicker Beat' by Lorde, hence the title, and also because I've been wanting to write about Rangers for forever, and now I'm giving it my best shot!_

_Happy reading!_

* * *

Prologue

**TA 2895**

The house burned as brightly as a star, a speck of light in the otherwise vastness of the night around it, black and hollow, just like the pit opening in her chest as she watched the flames burn impossibly higher.

_You are justified in doing this, _she thought to herself, ignoring the shudder that wracked her body when she saw the stumbling figure silhouetted inside the burning house, seeming to claw at the barred window before disappearing in a haze of smoke. _You are justified, you are justified, you are justified…_

She kept repeating it to herself, over and over again, until the emptiness in her chest opened so wide she began to feel nothing, and the words tasted truer and truer on her tongue with each repetition.

Over the roaring of the fire, raised voices and alarmed cries began to take to the air, and she stiffened, knowing it was time for her to flee, but not being able to take her eyes off of the burning house, the dwelling she had spent her entire life in, as it was reduced to nothing more than ash and rubble as the flames continued to eat greedily at it.

When the voices got closer and vague shadows of humanoid shapes could begin to be seen through the thick smoke permeating the air around her, she turned and ran into the surrounding woods by the house, though she hadn't taken more than a few steps before she stopped and looked over her shoulder, one last time.

A part of the roof was now sagging, looking as if it were about to collapse at any second, as the figures continued to flit around the structure, shouting and yelling, either for help or for the person inside to hear.

But there was no response, and there never would be.

Tears that she hadn't noticed coming on suddenly seared down her cheeks, a blazing heat that contrasted the cold winter air, though even that was beginning to warm from the presence of the flames consuming her home.

Finally, she couldn't bear to watch it anymore, and she turned away, facing the dark expanse of the nighttime woods before her.

She drew one of the twin daggers at her waist, a gift from her mother before she had departed, and hefted her small pack and her bow higher upon her shoulders, steeling herself for what was to come next, for even she, the supposed master of her own destiny, had naught a clue of where to go from here.

But taking a leap of faith, she began to sprint into the trees, leaving the burning house far behind as she raced the shadows themselves, and for once in her life, she did not look back.

* * *

Chapter One: How a Story Begins

**Present Day – TA 2941**

There were many things one should not do when passing through the town of Archet, and seven years ago, to this exact day, Safavael Tinnuhiril managed to break every single one of those rules upon her arrival to the town.

Archet was a moderately-sized town, not as large as the neighboring village of Bree, yet not as small as the village of Combe to their north, on the other side of the Chetwood (and thank goodness for that; those "backwater, toothless ingrates," as the Archet folk referred to them, had been a nuisance to the hardworking folk of Archet for generations, and they wanted nothing to do with them, as was for the best).

Its main street consisted of a bright and cheery bakery, an apothecary that always gave off the scent of gutted fish, a seamstress shop with a hawk-eyed owner who had her equally bird-like nose in everyone's business, and a butcher's shop where often the sound of pigs and the like being slaughtered were heard on the air, though everyone was used to it by now.

It also had a forge, where the young blacksmith who had taken over the business from his father ten years ago often attracted a small crowd of tittering, hopeful women while he worked, and beside it, a surgeon's house, seldom used by the locals of the town, as they didn't hold with such nonsense as "danger," but mainly there for the many travelers that passed through almost constantly, on their way to do this or sell that and anything in between, and right beside it, though even more seldom used, was the jailhouse.

The main street was topped off with the crowning achievement of the town, which was its small yet reasonably-priced inn and tavern, _The Wooden Lady. _Those in need of a drink or a room and not having the money to cop for _The Prancing Pony _in Bree often traveled here, and the townsfolk regarded it as something of a legend within their borders.

It was owned by the pinnacle of a respectable family in Archet, the Pennybrook's, and had been passed down from father to son ever since the town's establishment (yet no one could ever tell when exactly the town had first became a town; for all they knew, it had just popped out of the ground one day and none had questioned it).

The main street was in turn hedged by wooden dwellings for the residents to live, not one house out of place amongst the others, and it was in these houses that the locals lived, in their organized lives and structured community, the rule-abiding citizens that were wary of travelers and often shooed them on their way as quickly as they could, for strangers were not them, and strangers, in their eyes, did not follow the rules.

And as such, these were their rules (or, at least to them, the important ones): there was to be no drinking or lollygagging outside of the inn after ten o'clock; women were not allowed in the forge while the blacksmith's son, Adler Holway, was working (after the incident of Polly Gregor and the hammer, which had ended with a broken toe and many tears); absolutely no fighting or brawling or harassment of any kind; and, pulled directly from the rumors amongst the hobbit folk in the Shire across the river, there was to be no talk of adventures from lands abroad in the vicinity of the townsfolk, none whatsoever.

Adventures, they warned their children, were not to be trifled with; they always ended badly, in more ways than one, and what was even the point of them? Adventures were unnecessary and foolish, so long as there was still comfort and cheer and family in the world, and thus, they were disapproved of in Archet, as a great many other things that do not need nearly as much detail.

These rules, as mentioned before, came to the forefront of every resident's mind on the day that strange woman arrived, on a summer day seven years ago much like today.

The morning had been balmy and warm, with puffy clouds dotting the sky and a nice breeze coming from the Brandywine River to take off the edge of the Sun's heat, and the town was in a tranquil sense of languidness; the growing season was going well for the farmers, and there was a rare moment where no stranger or traveler was in the town.

But by mid-afternoon, all of that soon changed when the gatekeeper looked up from his card game with the postman and saw a large, chestnut horse trotting towards the gate, bearing a hooded and cloaked figure upon its back, which the gatekeeper thought strange for this type of weather, but he got up and opened his eye slot to peer out, nonetheless.

"Ah, good afternoon, sir," he greeted, clearing his throat. "What can we of Archet do for ya?"

"Well, to begin with, you can call me 'miss' instead of 'sir;' and not 'ma'am,' either. I can't stand that word."

The gatekeeper just about keeled over in shock when he heard the rider's voice, for it was distinctly feminine; despite its scratchy tone and seeming roughness, as if she didn't use it often, it was most definitely a female voice, confirmed when the rider cast back her hood and looked down at his eyes in the slot amusedly.

"I, uh, apologies, miss," he stammered. "I didn't know—"

"It's fine," she reassured, though her expression had become so stoic the gatekeeper wondered if it really _was _fine. "What I'm looking for is an inn I heard was here, _The Wooden Lady?"_

"Yes, yes, then you've come to the right place!" The gatekeeper said, hastening to open the gate and allowing the woman to pass through on her horse. "Just follow this road to the top of the hill; it's at the very top, can't be missed."

"Thank you," she said, inclining her head before she rode away, and from there, mayhem ensued.

Her name, as the townsfolk soon learned, was Safavael Tinnuhiril, which they found quite odd at first, for certainly one of those names was Elvish, and she was no Elf, to be sure. In fact, the townsfolk saw her as uncouth and a troublemaker, a rule-breaking stranger with a thirst for adventure, which, as they saw it, went against everything they stood for.

Now, not all needs to be recounted here, for the basis of every story is the same; a rule broken, order disrupted (the most memorable instances being Adler Holway dropping a hammer on his own foot when she had walked in on him working and demanded to sharpen her own daggers, and then the bar fight two nights later in the inn when more travelers came passing through and had apparently made a wrong advance upon her), and all of it seemed to stem from the arrival of this dark-haired, grey-eyed woman, who was in herself a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

No one knew where she came from, no one knew of her family, and no one certainly knew of where she had obtained her apparent fighting and hunting skills, though the children often whispered amongst themselves that she was an adventurer, a rumor that spread like wildfire despite the residents' aversion to it, and one that was bolstered by the woman herself.

She attracted quite the crowd in the tavern, grudging locals and rapt passers-through alike, weaving tales of thrilling horse chases through the lands of Rohan, hunts with wolves at midnight, and other things of the sort, unbelievable tales, yet not implausible.

She became quite a figurehead for the inn, but two weeks into her stay in the town was when the biggest rumor of them all began to spread: that Safavael Tinnuhiril, the Great Adventurer, as the children called her, would be staying in the town and working for the Pennybrook's in _The Wooden Lady, _in exchange for residency and money.

There had been an uproar at this: this strange woman, who no one knew anything about and stood against everything the townsfolk believed, live _here? _With decent, _normal _folk such as themselves? Even the thought of it was ludicrous, and in protest, the tavern was devoid of any locals for a month.

But in that month, Safavael Tinnuhiril slowly retreated from town life, until the point where people started to doubt her actually living there anymore. Customers slowly started to trickle back into the tavern, and what they saw surprised them.

Safavael Tinnuhiril, the Great Adventurer, had turned into a few-worded, hardworking barmaid, plain and normal in her simple dress and apron, with pinned back hair that resembled nothing wild and loose and untamable anymore, and the townsfolk were shocked at her sudden change.

No longer did she spin tales of great adventures, but once every month, the townsfolk gathered around to hear her play the viola she had borrowed from the Pennybrooks' youngest son, and occasionally sing; and although she never talked of adventures anymore, the townsfolk could still hear the longing and the nostalgia in her music, and even more clearly, her voice.

It was not anything the Valar themselves would be blessed to hear, but there was something about it that spoke of rivers and mountains, of seas and night skies and stars and the earth; it was something natural, and something good.

Soon, she became a constant part of life in Archet, melting from Safavael Tinnuhiril, the Great Adventurer, until she blended into the normalcy of the town, and instead became just Saf, the barmaid of _The Wooden Lady, _and sometimes the musician and vocalist of the town for one night every month.

She assimilated into the town, as a drop of blood dissipates in water, and for seven years Archet continued on just as it always had.

Until, one day, all of that changed – again – and Safavael Tinnuhiril, now just Saf the barmaid, was in the center of it all once more.

* * *

"Saf, for the millionth time, _don't _come in here when I'm working!" Adler complained, halting mid-swing with his hammer and glaring half-heartedly at the woman who had just entered. "I have a sign on that door for a reason!"

Saf snorted, rolling her eyes as she walked deeper into the shop anyway and perched the basket she had been carrying on one of his less cluttered worktables.

"If I didn't come in here when you were working, you would've starved to death at this point," she retorted lightly. "After all, someone has to remind you to eat, or you would forget to and become nothing but skin and bones, which would be very unfortunate - for you and your many suitors."

She pressed a hand over her heart in mock sympathy, and the blacksmith shook his blonde head exasperatedly, though a grin tugged at his lips as he set down his hammer and moved over to her.

"I guess you're right, as usual," he said, sniffing the air appreciatively at the scent of food and giving her a quick, friendly peck on the cheek. "Besides, I was done with my project anyway, so you actually came at a very convenient time."

"What is it you were working on?" she asked interestedly, walking over to the anvil and gazing down at the broadsword upon it; it was plain and simple, an ordinary iron blade with a tarnished bronze hilt, but when she ran a finger gently across one of the edges she could tell it was wickedly sharp, and she assumed Adler had sharpened it, as well, as she drew her hand away.

"That bloke from Dunland nicked off one of the edges," he replied, through a mouthful of sandwich, and Saf's keen eyes picked out the faintest outline on the left edge where her fingers had just been, a small line, unnoticeable to others, but to her only barely discernible from where Adler had melded it back together.

"And how'd he do that?" She picked up the sword gently, her fingers conforming easily around the hilt, and the muscles in her arms twitched, as if ready to move with the dance of swordplay once more, before she set it down and turned away, ignoring the now-tingling nerves in her arm.

Adler rolled his eyes, dark blue in the semi-darkness of the forge, as he preferred to work, and Saf sensed an amusing story coming on, before there was a knock on the door she had just entered, and they both looked at it in confusion.

Everyone in the town knew Adler was not to be disturbed during working hours (though Saf oftentimes made herself an exception to that rule; having been a close friend of hers for five years now, she usually always made time to see him before her evening shift in the tavern), so obviously the knocker had to be a traveler passing through, in need of a blacksmith's services before leaving once more.

Adler swallowed the last of his sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his sweaty shirt, crossing the forge to open the door and allowing sunlight to pour in, Saf having to avert her eyes against the sudden source of light in the otherwise dim workspace.

"How can I help you?" Adler asked brightly, and Saf had to smile at the man's cheeriness; though he was nearing his thirtieth winter, he still had the kindness and generosity that was stolen from many by that age, and his enthusiasm was almost always contagious, one of the reasons she had been drawn to his companionship in the first place.

"Some of my companions' weapons needed sharpening and polishing, and we're also looking for a weapon of smaller size. Do you have any daggers or knives available for purchase?"

The man who spoke had a deep, haunting voice; not necessarily bad, but a vibrating baritone Saf could almost feel in her chest, and the musical side of her, the part she had inherited from her mother, was instantly envious of the low, rich sound he had created, and she wondered if she could find a tune on her viola that could hit a note that low, though she doubted it.

Adler had moved aside from the door, beckoning the customer to follow after him, and he did, though Saf's eyes widened when she saw the other two behind him, realizing quite quickly they weren't even really men at all, but rather, dwarves.

The first one to enter the shop had a regal air to him in the way he held himself, tall (well, for a dwarf) and poised, heightened further by his raven-black hair, streaked with silver, a close-shaven beard, and hard blue eyes, cut like sapphires in his face.

The other two dwarves were just as impressive, if not more so; one was a rippling mass of muscle unto himself, bald with tattoos on his head and many scars, completing the image of a warrior with the two huge battleaxes strapped to his back. The last was smaller than the other two and quite portly, looking jovial and shrewd in equal measure, with sharp blue eyes and masses of white hair.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between all of them quickly, assessing them as Adler pulled out his cases of finished knives from beside her, and she watched as the dark-haired one looked around the forge appraisingly, giving a small nod of his head as if he approved before his eyes landed on her.

She met his gaze evenly, though unsure of what to do while Adler was in the middle of his business transaction, but not wanting to step aside either; she had rarely ever seen dwarves in her travels before, and, despite her mind urging that it didn't concern her, she was curious about them.

The dark-haired dwarf raised an eyebrow at her when she didn't immediately look away, and after a few seconds he asked, in that same low voice, "Can I help you?"

It wasn't sarcastic or rude when he said it; in fact, it didn't sound like anything at all, neither interested nor disinterested, and both her eyebrows rose in response to this.

"You're a dwarf," she stated calmly, ignoring the way the other two dwarves and Adler were staring between her and the first dwarf now, momentarily distracted by their conversation.

"And you are a woman," he countered, just as impassive as the first time he had spoken to her.

_Oh, you got me there, _she thought to herself sarcastically, but instead of saying that, she merely shrugged and crossed her arms. "Indeed, I am."

There was a slight moment of silence, before Adler cleared his throat and invited the dwarves to come over and look at the knives, and Saf now stood beside him awkwardly, fiddling with the basket she had brought with her as she listened to them haggle over prices and different weapons and whatnot.

She didn't know what had compelled her to speak to the dwarf, but now she was glad the conversation hadn't extended further; something about him put her off, whether from his dignified stature or bland social skills, and she hoped she wouldn't have to serve him at the inn tonight and encounter the same impassiveness he had shown her here.

"This is pointless," she heard the bald dwarf mutter suddenly to the white-haired one, the two that were standing closest to her as she tried not to eavesdrop, but failing miserably. "The hobbit isn't going to want a weapon, much less even want to learn to defend himself with one."

"Don't be too hard on him, brother," the older dwarf chastised, and Saf's ears pricked at the word 'brother;' so these dwarves were related then, she thought interestedly. "Master Baggins is a member of our company now, and we must treat him as such."

"Well, I'm not going to be soft, either," the bigger one grumbled. "Stopping in a town that's not even on the road we intended to take for the sake of _quality handkerchiefs?" _he emphasized. "I wouldn't be surprised if next he wanted to stop by the Elves and ask for a bloody tree to plant in his garden when we get back."

Saf tuned the rest of their discussion out, retreating into her thoughts briefly to ponder on what had been said.

They had mentioned a 'company,' so obviously there were more of them, possibly outside, and apparently one of their traveling companions was a hobbit. A Hobbit from the Shire? That was…unexpected. Hobbits were a reclusive, agrarian folk, who seldom left their borders, even to come to close-by places such as Archet and Bree. What would one be doing traveling with a bunch of dwarves? And, even more intriguing, where were they even going to?

She was snapped out of her wonderings when the dwarves began to make for the door and Adler closed the knife case beside her, and she followed their movements as the dark-haired one paused and turned back to Adler.

"We will have to consult our companion first to see what he wants before making a purchase," he said. "We will return tomorrow to work something out with him, but we'll be back later this evening for our own weapons when they are ready."

"Of course," Adler replied. "Just bring them in now and leave them on the queue, and I'll get to work on them as soon as I am able."

The dwarf nodded gratefully, but without even a backward glance, he turned and strode to the door.

He reached the threshold of the shop and began to pull the door closed behind him, but not before she heard him say to the others she assumed were outside, "Gather your weapons that need work done and leave them inside. Gandalf, are you going to leave your sword?"

Saf froze as the door banged shut, plunging her into the dim, glowing light of the forge once more as her heart began to chatter nervously in her chest, pulsing rapidly under her heating skin.

Gandalf. He had said Gandalf. It had been a good seven years since she had last seen or spoken to the Wizard, right before her arrival to Archet, and she had no idea what his sudden presence meant. It had to be a coincidence, surely, but what was he doing traveling with dwarves and a hobbit, and especially through her neck of the woods?

In an instant, she decided that she didn't want to see him. He knew too much, far too much about her and her past, and she didn't want to dredge all of those memories back up. She had come here to start a new life, a quiet, respectable, uneventful life, and whatever the Wizard had brought with him, she wanted no part in it.

As footsteps began to pound up the stairs that led to the front door of the forge, Saf suddenly turned and grasped Adler's arm tightly, her eyes wide and probably looking slightly panicked as he looked back at her concernedly.

"Saf, is something wrong?" he asked, and she gave a noncommittal jerk of her head as the footsteps got closer, sounding like a tiny army out on the steps from the multiple pairs of feet she could discern.

"Back door," she said hurriedly. "Unlock it, please. I – I have to get back to the tavern and get ready for tonight."

"All right," he said hesitantly, taking the keys he kept on his belt and going to the back door as she grabbed up her basket and practically ran after him, the footsteps now outside of the front door.

"You're performing tonight, right?" He asked her, as he unlocked the door, starting when she grabbed the handle and nearly wrenched it out if his grasp as she stepped outside.

"Yes, I am," she confirmed. "But I'll see you then, all right?"

Before Adler could respond, the front door opened and a troop of dwarves came strolling in, and there was a flash of grey from behind them that made Saf's stomach drop to her toes.

By the time the party had entered the shop completely, she was already out the door and sprinting away up the hill.

* * *

**Ending Author's Note**

Saf's name is pronounced like the first part of 'sapphire,' and Safavael is pronounced 'saf-ah-veil' while Tinnuhiril is 'ten-oo-he-reel.' Name meanings will come later in the story, as they are a very significant part of Saf's life, though Tinnuhiril is indeed a Sindarin Elvish name. Everything else I have pulled from the shreds of the Adûnaic language of the ancient Númenóreans and tweaked with it a bit.

A timeline of some events concerning Saf will be covered next chapter, so there won't be one here, even though the story has a pretty large gap to fill at the moment. Also, this story will follow the movies more than the book, though it will go off and do it's own thing from time to time, as you'll soon see.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and based on the response I get I'll decide how sooner the next chapter will be posted :) In the meantime, don't forget to review, with anything positive or constructive; I love hearing your thoughts!

Thanks again!


	2. 2: A Meddling Wizard

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Beginning A/N: **_Welcome back to Chapter Two! It took longer than expected to write this chapter, but I attribute that to the fact of my soul shattering after seeing BotFA Tuesday (can we say heartbreak?) But I hope all of you are well if you've seen it already, and if you haven't: tissues. And that is my note on that._

**Much thanks to my first reviewers last time: lovingthisbook and Telekinesis Fae Flamingsword (killer name, by the way), and thanks also to everyone who favorited and followed!**

_And I promised you guys a short timeline for Saf last time, so here it is:_

**TA 2850 **_\- Saf's birth_

**TA 2934 **_\- Saf meets Gandalf_

**TA 2941 **_\- Gandalf and the Company start the Quest for Erebor, and arrive in Archet where Saf now lives_

_I know it's a really short timeline, but more things will be added in later. And following this timeline, Saf is about ninety-one years old at the time of the Quest, so trust me, there will be a lot to put in those ninety-one years._

_Happy reading!_

* * *

Chapter Two: A Meddling Wizard

By the time the sun was setting, _The Wooden Lady _was already brimming with the wave of travelers that had just come up from the south and were staying in the inn for a week or so before moving on east, and the quiet tavern was suddenly crowded and noisy as more lamps were lit to keep the atmosphere bright and cheery as the locals mixed with the travelers passing through.

They were merchants and merchant escorts, wealthy folk from the extensive trading that they did with their crops and homemade brews, and Saf tied on her apron with more enthusiasm than normal, knowing she was bound to cop a good tip tonight, between the drunken merchants and her own performance later that evening.

"So, have you heard?"

Saf looked up from straightening her plain cotton dress to see the Pennybrooks' eldest daughter, Claude, leaning her hip on the bar counter next to her as she propped up her elbow and gazed at the other woman imploringly.

"Heard what?" Saf replied, noticing how Claude's bodice was cut a lot lower than usual tonight, and she internally applauded her daring, especially when Mr. Pennybrook himself walked by and gave her a dirty look, as if her cleavage was a personal offense.

But Saf knew that Claude would be jingling with coins after their shift tonight; men found it almost impossible to keep their eyes off of the auburn-haired beauty, and combined with her shapely figure and natural charisma, she'd have so much money that even her father would conveniently forget her scandalous outfit.

Claude leaned in closer, her green eyes wide as she said, "About the dwarves in town! There's a whole company of them, I've heard; thirteen, from the looks of it, but Ridge reckons there's a Halfling and a Man traveling with them. Strange, huh?"

Saf had kept her expression neutral during this whole exchange, flashing back to the three dwarves she had seen earlier in Adler's shop, though she felt a bit of a pinch in her gut at the word 'Man;' she knew it was no mere Man that company traveled with, and dread settled upon her even before Claude's next words came out.

"They're supposed to be staying here tonight," she went on confidentially, after Saf's lack of response. "Father should be pleased; a group that large will cost a lot of coins to house, especially with the amount of ale they'll drink."

She winked at Saf, and Saf grinned half-heartedly, nodding, unease now churning her stomach as she kept her eyes trained on the door to the inn.

When Claude moved away to go serve some merchants that had just come down the stairs, Saf expelled a heavy breath and rolled her shoulders before joining her. She had hoped the dwarves and the Wizard would move on after getting their weapons sharpened, but she recalled the dark-haired dwarf's statement about coming back tomorrow to get a weapon for their companion and internally groaned, the tension never leaving her shoulders as she worked.

But after an hour passed and dusk was settling into night, Saf began to wonder if they had left after all. There wasn't much else to do in Archet after nightfall, per the town's rules, and if they were wanting rooms in the inn, they would have checked in by now.

This thought lifted Saf's spirits considerably, and she now served the tavern's guests with a brighter expression on her face, relieved that she no longer had to worry about Gandalf showing up unannounced and unwanted in her life.

As Saf placed three mugs of ale before some locals who flashed her a brief smile, the front door to the inn opened with a telltale groan, and she whipped her head around so fast her neck cricked, though she relaxed immediately when she only recognized Adler.

The appearance of her friend banished all worries from her mind as he waved to her and settled down at his usual table, and she went to fetch him an ale as relief coursed through her; Adler was always the last customer in the tavern, since it took him so long to close down the forge every evening, and few people rarely walked in after him, so Saf took it as a good omen that the dwarves and Gandalf had already left town as she took him his drink.

She didn't even have to weave through the crowd to reach him, despite the number of customers in the tavern; though _The Wooden Lady _was praised for its cleanliness and spaciousness, they were never hard-pressed for business. This she attributed to the fact that not all merchants and their escorts were entirely respectable folk, and the ones that weren't more preferred _The Prancing Pony _in Bree to the south, where lawlessness was frequent, though not as rampant as Combe to their north.

"Ah, bless thee, fair maiden," Adler joked as Saf set down his ale before him. "Thy heart fills with joy to see this fine draught."

"And I'm sure it feels the same about you," she said, watching in amusement as he threw back the mug and drank deeply. "Long day, then?"

"You have no idea," he replied, pausing in his drinking and rolling his eyes. "Those dwarves were exceedingly picky about the way they wanted their weapons to look, and there were so many; they were like a walking armory!"

"And do they plan on coming back tomorrow?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral, and he shrugged.

"Dunno," he said. "They said nothing of it, and I didn't press."

Saf nodded, her muscles relaxing again as she realized she didn't have to see Gandalf again, if ever after this –

No sooner did the thought cross her mind when the inn door groaned open again, and Saf's smile disappeared and she gulped as the dark-haired dwarf from the forge stalked in, scowling, and leading twelve other dwarves, as she quickly counted, including the two from earlier, what was most definitely a Halfling, and completing the party, Gandalf the Grey himself.

He hadn't changed since she had last seen him seven years ago; not that she had thought he would, but it was still a punch in the gut, nevertheless, as she took in his tall, wiry frame, grey robes and pointy hat, and silver hair and beard, leaning on a wooden staff set with a crystal as he queued up with the dwarves and Halfling.

Saf stared, her heart beginning to thump uncomfortably as she stared at Gandalf, who took in the tavern with a serene look, extracting his pipe from the inside of his robes, and he was just going to light it when his eyes, still the same piercing blue as they always had been, dropped down and landed on her, still standing across the tavern and staring at him.

The Wizard started, peering closer at her after a group of men stumbled out of his path, and Saf swallowed nervously, noting the Wizard's surprise, yet not entirely convinced of it; the longer they held each other's gazes, the more Saf saw the knowing twinkle in his eyes, and she knew that whatever he was feigning was not real, and that somehow, he had deliberately chosen to seek her out.

At this realization, her eyes narrowed and she looked away, her gaze taking in the clustered dwarves sparingly before she paused, meeting the jewel-blue eyes of the dark-haired dwarf, who had apparently followed Gandalf's line of vision and noticed her again, his own eyes narrowing in recognition.

"You all right, Saf?" Adler questioned, trying to see where she was looking, but she tore her eyes away from the odd group and instead smiled down at him, though it was quite obviously forced.

"Yes, fine," she said, waving him off. "I just, ah, I have to see if Claude needs any help serving right now. But we'll talk later, all right?"

Adler nodded, too absorbed in drinking again to respond, and she slipped back behind the bar quickly, trying to stem the slight tremble in her fingers as she focused on getting more ale for the patrons, keeping an eye and an ear out for the group all the same.

She saw the dwarves and the hobbit make for an unoccupied table in the middle of the room, while the dark-haired one (who was apparently the leader) and Gandalf approached the front desk (really just another corner of the bar), and she assumed they were buying rooms, much to her dismay, as they began speaking with Mr. Pennybrook.

Claude suddenly whisked behind the counter where she was standing filling mugs, a dazzling smile on her face as she approached.

"I told you, look!" she said excitedly, gesturing to where the dwarves were sitting and beginning to grab filled mugs to take to them. "I've never seen so many together before; I wonder what they're doing? They don't really look like merchants."

Saf silently agreed, as she took in more of the company; the dwarves, at least, were heavily armed, as Adler said, while the hobbit sat uncomfortably in their midst, fidgeting and looking around warily, though she did not miss the wink of interest in his eyes as he took in his surroundings.

The group looked like a small mobilized army with all their weapons, she thought wryly, but that was only on the outside; she had no doubt they were concealing many others on their person, as she did the same, referring to the small dagger tucked up her right sleeve that she always wore. And she hadn't noticed them bringing in any wares or selling earlier, which only heightened her suspicion more; what was Gandalf's interest in this strange company?

"You're being awfully quiet tonight," Claude noted, eyeing her as Saf watched Gandalf and the lead dwarf join the others at the table, knowing they had gotten rooms from the way Mr. Pennybrook whistled jovially and jingled a fat sack of coins as he walked by, but looked back to Claude sheepishly at her remark.

"Sorry, I'm not meaning to," she said apologetically, finishing the last mug of ale and gathering some in her hands to take to the company. "I'm just…distracted."

"And for good reason," Claude said mischievously. "Some of those dwarves aren't bad-looking, if I do say so myself."

Saf followed her gaze and observed two of the dwarves, who looked fairly young by Dwarven standards, one blonde with twin moustache braids and one brunet with only scruff on his face instead of a full beard; they were handsome, she had to admit, but when her eyes slid over to Gandalf and found the Wizard staring at her, she grit her teeth and looked away.

"You get half and I get half," Claude said, when Saf had gathered all the mugs she could carry, and the other woman threw her a coy smile. "As long as I get the handsome ones – including that black-haired fellow that just sat down."

"All right," Saf said, not really caring as they began to make their way over. "But you have to get the man, too."

She didn't know if Claude had heard her, as she was now too busy smiling as flirtatiously as she could, and Saf inwardly rolled her eyes as they approached the table, the back of her neck heating as she felt Gandalf's gaze boring into her, though she studiously ignored him.

She set down the ales in front of the bald dwarf from the forge and a red-haired fellow across from him with a thick scar through one of his brows to their gruff thanks before they immediately began chugging it, and she set down her last one in front of the white-haired dwarf she had seen earlier as his face lit up in remembrance.

"Hello, again!" He greeted kindly, and Saf smiled, aware of Gandalf still trying to catch her eye a few seats away, though she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the dwarf before her. "I didn't expect to see you in here, lassie. I thought you were the blacksmith's wife?"

Saf had to laugh at his, her eyes flicking over to where Adler was now playing a game of cards with some other locals. She noticed some of the dwarves in their vicinity were now looking at her interestedly, but she ignored them as best she could.

"Oh, no, Master Dwarf," she said amusedly. "Adler Holway is as much a bachelor today as he always will be, I'm afraid. I am merely a friend."

"Ah, apologies, then, for the assumption, Miss…?" He looked at her expectantly, and Saf chanced a glance at Gandalf, giving him a warning glare as she replied.

"Saf," she said, with a slight bow of her head. "Just Saf." Gandalf raised an eyebrow imperceptibly at her, but she looked back to the dwarf quickly. "And apologies are not necessary, Master Dwarf. But perhaps more ales?"

"Yes, please," he said, taking a swig from his tankard. "And please, call me Balin."

"I'll be right back then, Master Balin," she said, and headed back to the bar counter, trying not to look as nerve-wracked as she felt, what with Gandalf's creepy gaze on her the whole time.

She filled more tankards and watched Claude flirt with the two younger dwarves, her breasts practically in their faces as they talked animatedly to her and she laughed, before returning to her task and trying to keep herself busy.

Only a few seconds later, however, she instinctively tensed when she felt someone approaching, and she looked up in time to see Gandalf sidle into one of the bar stools before her, his hat gone and leaving her to stare into his lined face as he smiled at her.

"Safavael Tinnuhiril," he said, and she stiffened at the use of her name. "Or, just Saf now, as you prefer."

"Indeed," she said flatly, in no mood to exchange pleasantries with the Wizard, not when she did not know his true motives for being here.

There was a crackling silence between them, before Saf sighed heavily and said, "If you're going to say something to me, Gandalf, say it quickly; in case you haven't noticed, I have a job that I need to be doing, and I don't have time to sit around and wait for you to speak in riddles."

"My dear girl, whatever is the matter?" The Wizard said in surprise. "Is it really that bad for an old friend to catch up with you and see how you have been doing for the last seven years?"

Saf resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, though she did feel a slight flicker of guilt at his words; she knew she was being unpleasant, but she preferred straightforwardness over beating around the proverbial bush, and she knew from experience that Gandalf was as irritatingly vague as they came.

"Fine," she resigned herself to speak. "What do you want to know, then? How I'm doing? How is small town life treating me? Because my answer will be the same: I've been doing well, and whatever you have up your sleeve by whirling into town with a group of dwarves and a hobbit, I want no part of."

"Then you are content with your life here?" He asked shrewdly, and she met his eyes evenly, the blue depths searching hers, as if for a lie.

"I am," she replied. "Else I would've moved on by now."

He nodded slowly, seeming to mull over her answer, before saying suddenly, "Do you know who that dwarf is?"

She was momentarily thrown by the abrupt change in topic, but she looked to where Gandalf had gestured and saw the dark-haired dwarf, where he sat broodingly and took a slow drag from his tankard.

"Should I?" she said, not really getting what the Wizard was hinting at.

"He is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin and grandson of Thrór, the rightful heir to the throne of Erebor," he said, and Saf fumbled with the tankard she had taken to wiping, her eyes going wide. "You have heard of him, yes?"

"Not necessarily of _him, _but of Erebor…" She shook her head, her curiosity heightened in spite of herself. "They say that a dragon lives there now, after driving the dwarves from their kingdom, and dwells there still, though no soul has seen it for sixty years."

"Which is true," Gandalf affirmed. "Smaug still slumbers in the Lonely Mountain, this I am sure of. And this is why I have agreed to travel with this Company."

"Why you have agreed to…" Saf was suddenly hit with a terrifying realization, and this time the mug did slip from her fingers, crashing to the floor as she stared at Gandalf in horror. "By the Valar. You are not as insane as I think you are to lead a quest to kill a _dragon?"_

"Erebor must be reclaimed," Gandalf told her calmly, as she still stared, not even bothering to pick up the fortunately unbroken mug from the floor. "The dragon has lingered there for far too long, and it is Thorin's birthright. It is time to take back the Mountain."

"That's not all, and you know it, Gandalf," Saf said, leaning in close so no one would be able to overhear them – not that anyone was paying attention to begin with, but still. "The Watchful Peace has long since ended, yet you still carry great unease over the darker parts of the world encroaching upon us, as you confided in me before. Restoring a rightful king to a throne is not your only motive for helping this company; no, something far greater is attached to this quest, something that goes beyond just Smaug."

"You are as keen as ever, Safavael," he said amusedly, and Saf, realizing how intense she had gotten, leaned away from him and pushed back a piece of hair in an attempt at nonchalance. "But you know better than anyone that a Wizard must keep some things to himself; or how else would he be considered wise?"

He chuckled at this, but Saf didn't reply, finally picking up the fallen mug and placing it back on the counter to wipe again. His laughter didn't last long, and when Saf looked back to him, it was to find him peering at her right hand intently.

She looked down to see him staring at her ring, the one that had once belonged to her mother; it was a simple thing of silver, etched with only two words in ancient Adûnaic: _Nadagréil, _her mother's name, and _Gimilnitîr _– the Star-kindler.

"You are a Ranger, Safavael," Gandalf said quietly, and she met his eyes, scrutinizing and warm in the dim tavern light. "I know you do not choose to remember where you came from, but you are. And I know it is not my place to ask you this, but you would be an invaluable asset to have on a perilous journey."

"And you're right," Saf said, anger hardening her veins as she caught on to what Gandalf was trying to do, why he had come to this town in the first place, and she couldn't believe the gall he had in doing this. "It is not your place to ask me for anything, especially this."

"You know the Wild better than any other, and you would provide a sense of reason in an otherwise stubborn group of dwarves," he said, as if resigning himself to argue, and Saf crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

"And what of the Halfling?" she snapped. "Surely that is what you hired him for, since Hobbits are not exactly renowned for adventures and fighting. It seems you already have him as an advisor, so what do you need me for?"

"Join the Company, and you may see that for yourself," he answered wryly, and a muscle in Saf's jaw twitched.

"I'm fairly certain Thorin Oakenshield would not want a stranger joining his quest," she retorted. _And why would I want to venture anywhere with such a scowling, brooding person? _She added silently.

"Thorin Oakenshield will do whatever it takes to reclaim his homeland," he countered. "I could make a very persuasive case for you, one that he would not refuse—"

"No, Gandalf," she said flatly, cutting him off. "There are many things I would do for you, but not something like this. I have a life now, a life of peace and quiet that I have fought hard to get, and you dangling a quest in my face will not sway me from it. I'm sorry."

"Yes, a life you have condemned yourself to, if only to escape your past," he said, and her heart dropped to her toes at his solemn tone, meeting his serious eyes as he laced his fingers together in front of him. "You see no way out of it, but I can give you the means to escape it, if only you think about my offer."

"You know nothing of my life," she said, in a near whisper as her throat went dry. "I know what is out there, Gandalf, I know what awaits me if I so much as poke my nose outside of these borders, and I won't do it. People clamored for my head, and I know they still do; though they used to shout my name, they still whisper it. They haven't forgotten, and neither have I."

"Then let this be a clean start," Gandalf beseeched her. "Go to the East, where none have heard your name, and stop hiding yourself away from the world and the sins you insist on carrying! Reclaim your life again, and live it! Redeem yourself by helping others, and lay to rest any transgressions you cannot bear."

"Stop this," Saf said. "Stop saying this is my chance of redemption, because it is not, Gandalf. You only want me on this quest to further your own means. This has nothing to do with me, and you had best leave me be."

She was trembling now, and the corners of her eyes burned, tears threatening to come on and shocking her; she had not cried for a long time, and damn this Wizard if he was going to make her start now.

She jerked back when Gandalf's large hand suddenly covered her own on the counter, but she didn't remove it as she forced herself to meet his gaze again, not even sure she _could _move it from how badly her fingers were shaking.

"Safavael, listen to me," he murmured kindly, and this approach was the worst one yet, for Saf had never managed to shrug off his compassion before. "I will not force you to do this; I am only giving you a means to get out of this life, if you so wish it." He suddenly smiled, and Saf raised an eyebrow at him as he said, in an even softer voice, "Think of what an adventure Iorhael would make this out to be, if nothing else."

Saf tore her hand away from him as if his skin was on fire, her tears receding as anger swelled once more in her chest.

"Do not use him to guilt me into coming on this quest, Gandalf," she growled, as the Wizard met her glare levelly. "I already gave you my answer."

"My dear girl, you know as well as I that he would not want you to waste your life withering away in a forsaken bar, trapped in the confines of a town that would see you beaten and worn before the long years of your life were spent," he said, injecting a note of steel into his voice that temporarily quelled her. "He envisioned great things for you and him; please, trust me when I say that this is for your benefit."

Saf did not get a chance to answer, for suddenly there was a tap on her arm, and she started and whirled around, staring down into the face of Edgar, the Pennybrooks' youngest son, who held his viola case in his hand as his youthful eyes looked up at her innocently.

"Father says you can start playing now," he told her brightly, holding out the case to her. "Everyone's been bothering him about it, so he told me to give this to you."

"Thank you, Edgar," Saf said, clearing the lump out of her throat and clamping down on her emotions quickly, sliding behind the mask she usually wore so people like Gandalf couldn't easily get under her skin. "I'll start now."

And without another glance at Gandalf, she took the viola out of the proffered case and walked to an empty table at the front of the tavern.

As she reached the table and began tuning the instrument, a hush had fallen over the patrons, and the locals looked at her expectantly while the travelers – including the dwarves, she noticed – looked on interestedly.

She took comfort in the feel of the strings under her fingers as she tuned, and the curved, polished body of the viola conformed to her grip easily as she hooked her ankle around a chair leg and pulled it out for her to stand on, as she usually did when she performed.

So busy was she that she didn't even notice Adler moving up to sit nearer to her until he whispered to her, "What are you planning on playing tonight?"

Saf stopped abruptly, looking at him wide-eyed, as she realized she had not thought of anything to play at all. She had been so distracted by the arrival of Gandalf that she hadn't even selected anything of what she would perform, no song, no composition, nothing.

Her heart started to beat anxiously, and she cast her mind about for anything, though not even songs she had been playing for years were coming to her, and she began to panic.

Her eyes suddenly landed on the company in the center of the room, of the dwarves clustered together drinking and smoking, and a far-off memory floated to the forefront of her mind, of a song she had heard many, many years ago, and she sucked in a sharp breath as the tune of it wrapped around her brain, and her fingers suddenly itched to play it.

She met Adler's questioning gaze as she stood up on the chair, twirling the bow between her fingers, and she gave him a slight wink as she said, "You'll see."

And with that, she closed her eyes, making sure to let the tune sweep through her as she prepared to play, the voice she had heard so long ago coming back to guide her along: _"Far over, the Misty Mountains cold…"_

She pressed the bow to the strings and began to play, a haunting melody that spoke of forgotten treasures and a distant home, of fire and harps and kings of old, though she did not give voice to any of these things, letting the viola speak for itself.

She opened her eyes and looked back to the company, who had all gone rigid in their seats and were staring at her with wide eyes and slack jaws, though she did see Balin smiling broadly at her, a bittersweet smile that spoke of grief and gratitude all at once.

However, her gaze was drawn inexorably to the dark-haired dwarf, the one Gandalf had told her was Thorin Oakenshield, the legitimate King under the Mountain of Erebor.

She realized then that her observation of him earlier had been correct, that his regal air was no façade at all, but rather that he was, in fact, royalty. She watched him smoke his pipe, his head wreathed in smoke, and his eyes, dark now in the soft light of the tavern, gazed back at her with the same look he had given her in the forge: blank and calculating, though this time around, she noticed something she hadn't before.

There was a glimmer to the blue depths, a sliver of something she couldn't place earlier, but something that she now thought she understood, something she had not seen in decades, but as familiar to her as basic instinct.

What she saw in Thorin Oakenshield's eyes was a fragment of home, a small window of hope that punched into her gut and made her resolve crumble marginally; for this song was not only for the dwarves sitting around him. She understood now why Gandalf had told her of his quest: because he knew she would understand, better than anyone, what it was like to crave a home.

And Thorin Oakenshield's eyes did not speak of dragon slaying and great kingdoms. They spoke of warm hearths, and a home to be welcomed back into.

* * *

_Nadagréil - _"crowned with radiance"

_Gimilnitîr _\- "the Star-kindler"

So this wasn't the exact place where I wanted to end this chapter, but a lot begins to go down next time, so I didn't want to overwhelm or anything.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and reviews are appreciated! So if there's anything you liked, disliked, or are looking forward to, let me know!

Thanks again! Until next chapter...


	3. 3: All Men Must Die

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Quick A/N: **_Well, Happy New Year everyone, and I hope you're having a good holiday season! This chapter had to be split in half for the sake of length (though if you've crossed over here from 'The March of Time' you already know how notorious I am for long chapters), but I hope you enjoy it all the same!_

**Many thanks to my reviewers from last time: Tella, lovingthisbook, LittleApollyon, Jotun-Pheonix, Jo (Guest), and emo steve (Guest)! Thanks also to everyone who has already favorited/followed, as well; I can't believe the response this fic has already gotten!**

_Happy reading!_

* * *

Chapter Three: All Men Must Die

**TA 2873**

She had never felt so much pain in all her life.

Her muscles were stretching to their breaking point, her bones feeling as if they were about to shatter inside of her at any second, and she couldn't stop the sweat from pouring down her face, even less keep her lips clamped around the wail that tore out of her mouth as her arms were twisted more violently behind her.

"Does it hurt?" The gruff voice said from behind her, and she shook her head, biting her lip as tears began to leak out of her eyes.

She suddenly screamed as her arms were yanked back harder, her limbs feeling as if they were about to be torn from their sockets, and the pain was so blinding, so burning and excruciating, that she didn't stop screaming until she was out of breath, though the pain did not relent.

"I said, does it hurt?" The voice repeated calmly, and she shook her head again, pressing her face into the dirt and sobbing quietly.

Once again, her arms were yanked even further back, to the point where they almost crossed each other, and she shrieked, the sound tearing out of her throat as the voice roared, "DOES IT HURT?"

"Yes!" She screamed. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Her arms were suddenly released, and they flopped to the ground lifelessly as she trembled violently, tasting acid in her mouth as she prepared herself for what was next. He was displeased, she knew, with her admittance of weakness, and she would be punished for it – Halluin was never one to be crossed, in words or actions, and she knew firsthand that he tolerated no such thing as weakness.

_"Nithil," _he said softly, soothingly, and she tensed as one of his rough hands touched her throbbing shoulder, gentle despite what he had done to her. "You know why I do this, yes?"

When she didn't answer, he went on, his tone becoming sad, almost sorrowful.

"Men were made fragile, so fragile," he said. "We are seen as the lesser species, weak and easily expendable, insignificant to the might of the Elves, and even the Dwarves. But I will make you strong, _nithil, _stronger than even the Elves of the First Age. You will become like those before us, as mighty and noble as the ancient Men of the West, but you must not show weakness. You will never survive if you break easily, if swords and arrows pierce your flesh and you feel their pain. No, you must become numb to it all, if you wish to survive in this world."

And without any warning, her arms were pulled behind her again, and an explosion of agony shot through her shoulders and laced down her spine, but this time, she did not scream. She didn't know whether she had lost all will to, of if she had finally choked down his words, but she made no sound, despite feeling as if her arms were being ripped from her torso.

"All Men must die," Halluin told her quietly, though under his soft voice was an unrelenting beast, a savage predator ready to suck at her blood if she allowed it to pour forth from her skin or throw her body to the crows if she broke, which she would not – _could _not – allow herself to do. "And what else do we say, _nithil?"_

"But not all Men must bow before Death when He calls," she gasped out, and though she couldn't see his face, she could sense his satisfaction as he continued to leech the pain out of her until she would be numb to it, and never have to feel it again.

"That's right, _nithil," _he affirmed. "And when He calls for us, we will not go gently into that sweet dark. We are Men, and we do not bow."

* * *

**Present Day – TA 2941**

Saf did not sleep well that night.

Too much had happened for her to be able to fall into the sweet comfort of oblivion, and so she had stayed awake most of the night, laying in her small bed as her thoughts whirled like the winds across the plains of Rohan.

Gandalf and the dwarves, of course, were a big contender in all of her musings; the Wizard's offer of the quest was particularly haunting, but Saf had made her decision, and now she would not think twice about it. Yet something still tugged at her, still urged her to go back and accept his words, but she shoved that thought away; she may have allowed herself to feel an inkling of adventure again when playing the song for the dwarves, but now that meant nothing. She had made her choice, and she would be staying while they journeyed on.

Memories that had been stirred by Gandalf had been plaguing her, as well, and she had spent hours twisting the silver ring on her finger, the one that had once belonged to her mother. She knew Gandalf had been going to bring her roots into his persuasion, but it hadn't made it easier for her to hear; that part of her life was done with, a chapter that had ended before moving on to the next, and Gandalf would have done well to remember it. She had forsaken the title of Ranger long ago, and she had no inclination to call herself such again.

Soon, pale dawn light was streaming through the bars of her window, and she could begin to hear the sounds of the town waking up and getting on with another repetitive day. There was something comforting about it, the cyclical way in which the townsfolk lived, something that had drawn Saf to their kind of life since she had first set foot here. Sure, at times it was incredibly boring, but there was something endearing about it, as well.

The increasing activity she could hear from outside her first-story window and coming from the rooms above her was what finally roused her from her bed, and she kicked off her thin but warm covers, standing up and crossing to the rack where her work dress hung from when she had left it to dry the night before.

She slipped on the dress and apron and pinned her hair up and back from her face, securing it with pins so it would stay in place, before sliding back on her dagger and tugging her sleeve down over it.

She still felt some guilt over wearing the weapon; the people of Archet never took kindly to weapons on ladies, for they saw it as part of something uncivilized if a society was so barbaric that women had to arm themselves, but for the most part, Saf ignored it. She had seen and been through too much in her life to walk around defenseless, and as long as she kept the dagger out of sight, there was nothing to discuss.

The same held true for her bedroom, as she turned away from her cracked looking-glass and made for her heavily fortified door. Despite the relative peace and lack of criminal activity of the town, it hadn't stopped her from putting protective measures in place, especially when the occasional raiders from Combe paid a visit.

Such measures were the bars she had gotten Adler to place on her one window, and the heavy bolts and locks on her door; those were the most obvious things, but to trained eyes, her small room contained many more defenses in the forms of secret compartments and hidden weapons racks, though since no one really came into her room, she never had to explain it to them, and for that, she was grateful.

She slid back the numerous bolts and unlocked her door, stepping into the dimly lit hallway and locking her door before starting to the bar and sliding the small key into a pocket of her apron.

It didn't take her long to reach the parlor and bar, considering her room was on the first floor and only several doors away from the entry. She sighed before entering into the parlor, feeling her fatigue tugging at her insistently, though she did her best to ignore it.

The sun had barely risen over the roofs of the shops surrounding the inn when she stepped into the parlor, and immediately she resisted the urge to groan and just turn around and go back to her room when she saw the dark-haired dwarf (she still couldn't bring herself to refer to him as Thorin Oakenshield) seated at one of the tables, the only patron in the room as he stared broodingly off into space and smoked absent-mindedly on his pipe.

All thoughts of leaving were quickly banished when his eyes flicked up and met hers, and she stifled a sigh, smoothing down the front of her dress before she went over to him and forced a smile.

"Good morning, Master Dwarf," she said as lightly as she could. "Would you like anything to eat?"

He regarded her carefully, his eyes scrutinizing before he said around the pipe in his mouth, "Sausages and eggs sound decent, if you wouldn't mind."

He said it as if she had every intention of minding and couldn't care one way or another, and she felt her nerves prickle before forcing them down, instead replying with, "And how would you like your eggs? Scrambled, fried, or poached?"

"Poached, please," he said blandly, and Saf jerked her head, starting behind the counter and preparing to cook. She wasn't the best cook by a long shot, considering Claude and Mrs. Pennybrook were mainly the chefs, but as they were still sleeping, the task fell to her, and she tried not to grumble as she got to work. It was bad enough that she was forced to cook so early in the morning, and it was even less desirable to do so for a prickly dwarf who was supposedly a king-in-exile.

There was no sound for a while other than that of the cooking food, but when it was done she carried the plate and a cup of milk over to the dwarf, setting it down before him just as he was stowing away his pipe.

"Ah, thank you," he said, in a slightly warmer tone, and Saf resisted the urge to snort; of course food would be a way to make a dwarf more receptive towards her, she thought wryly.

She had not met many dwarves in her long years of traveling, but she had met enough to generalize most of their kind; moody, stubborn, closely-guarded, and boisterous, with a great love of ale, meat, and, of course, riches. Yet Thorin Oakenshield seemed more cantankerous and closed-off than any other she had met, and she wondered why; certainly losing a kingdom would make one reserved and distant, but there was something else she couldn't quite put a finger on.

She realized with a start that she had been staring at him the whole time she was thinking this, and she was just about to move away when he gestured for her to sit down, raising his brows.

Hesitating only briefly, she complied, taking the seat across from him and cocking her own brow as they sat and sized each other up.

Finally he said, "So, you appear to be no stranger to Gandalf the Grey."

Saf crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat.

"Is anyone ever really a stranger to the wandering Wizard?" she replied coolly, and he shrugged.

"In this town, yes, which is why I find your association with him…interesting."

"You don't find it interesting, you're just wary of how and why I know him," Saf replied, getting straight to the point, and one of his dark brows arched higher up his forehead at her sharp tone.

"You are very blunt," he said, catching her off-guard a bit, and now it was her turn to raise her brows at his slightly patronizing tone.

"And you are very observant," Saf said sarcastically, scooting back her chair. "You'll forgive me if I have to get back to work now, Master Dwarf. Good day."

She made to get up, but stopped when he said, "What did the Wizard tell you of my Company and me?"

His tone had become hard and serious again, no trace of veiled formality anymore, and when Saf met his eyes again, she realized that they held a hint of warning and a threat that if she should lie to him, he would probably stomp on her face with one of his heavy iron-shod boots.

"He told me that you are Thorin Oakenshield, the rightful king of Erebor, and that you are leading this group of dwarves and a hobbit to take back your homeland from the dragon Smaug," she said honestly, and after searching her eyes for a few moments, he dropped her gaze and muttered a string of Dwarvish curses under his breath, though she inferred most of them were about Gandalf.

"He also offered me a place in your Company," she said, knowing she was adding more fuel to the fire, but not being able to help herself; the dwarf's growing annoyance was entertaining to watch.

"Blasted Wizard," he growled, looking as if he were resisting the urge to put his head in his hands, and Saf smirked, which only earned her a dark glare from the dwarf.

"It was not his place to offer you such a position," he snapped. "So I wouldn't get your hopes up – "

"No need to be rude to me, Master Dwarf," Saf said, her smirk growing broader at his thunderous expression. "I turned down his offer, so you have no need to worry. This town would fall into ruin if I went gallivanting off with Gandalf the Grey and his merry band of dwarves, so rest assured I have no intention of joining or following you."

He looked quite miffed at her 'merry band of dwarves' comment, but when he didn't say anything, she sighed and stood up; a simple conversation with this dwarf was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth, and even just _speaking _to him was oddly tiring, which made no sense to her at all.

She was just walking away when his deep voice called her back, and she grit her teeth, turning, as he said, "I find it hard to believe you are of this town."

He met her perplexed gaze levelly, taking a drink from his cup as she wondered how he knew she wasn't from here; had Gandalf told him of her past? No, the Wizard was far too loyal to betray such things, and besides…

"Your face belies years of hard work," he elaborated, swallowing down the drink he had taken, and Saf stiffened. "But your eyes – and your music – speak of wide worlds and distant horizons, something a small town girl as you claim to be would have no knowledge of."

"And I think your tongue speaks of things you know nothing about," Saf countered rudely, smiling sweetly and causing the dwarf to scowl at her. "Now, good day, Master Dwarf, and if there's anything else you'll be needing, I'm sure Claude would readily assist you."

She nodded her head in the direction of the auburn-haired woman who had just entered the parlor, blinking the sleep from her eyes and thankfully wearing a more modest dress as she waved to Saf.

With one last measured look at the scowling dwarf, she turned and walked back behind the bar, looking for anything to distract her from the burning gaze she could feel on her back and resorting to wiping down already-clean mugs to occupy her time.

She had spited the dwarf, she knew, as that had been her intention; it always was. If people got too close to the truth or started asking questions she didn't like, her reaction was always to deflect and take the offensive, as she had done with the dwarf. She didn't even feel bad about it with him, as all he had wanted to do was pry into her private life, and she was grateful when only minutes later some of his companions, among them Gandalf, the hobbit, Balin, and the two dwarves Claude had been flirting with the night before, came downstairs and sat with him.

Claude served them breakfast with her usual charm and smile, though most of it was directed at the two handsome dwarves and Thorin Oakenshield, while Saf watched from behind the bar as they ate and then walked out, presumably to go to Adler's shop, Gandalf not once looking at her, which she found strange; he had been practically stalking her the night before, and now he was pretending she wasn't there?

_Wizards, _she thought exasperatedly. _As temperamental as storms, they are._

"Saf," Claude said insistently, snapping her fingers in the other woman's face as she jerked out of her reverie and looked to see her frowning at her.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Saf said sheepishly, which only made her arch a brow.

"I was asking if you were all right," she repeated. "You've been wiping down that same mug for the last half-hour and scowling at that dwarf the whole time. What's gotten into you?"

"I – it's nothing," Saf muttered, setting down the mug and rag in her hands and casting her eyes around the bar to look for something else to do. No one else had entered the parlor for the morning, and everything appeared to be in order to her dismay, as it meant she was stuck with Claude and her prying questions.

"You know, you've been behaving very oddly ever since those dwarves and that Man showed up," Claude noted, peering closely at her. "And I saw you talking to that Man last night; you seemed very agitated. Are you sure – "

"Yes, Claude, I think I know how I've been behaving, seeing as it's myself and I have some control over my own words and actions," she snapped, instantly regretting her words when Claude leaned back and raised her hands in defense.

"I know, I know," she conceded. "I'm just worried about you, is all. Apologies for my concern, then."

"Claude, wait – " Saf sighed, but she was already whisking away in a swish of skirts, heading out of the parlor and presumably back to her room.

"Dammit," she muttered, putting her elbows on the counter and burying her face in her hands.

It was going to be a _long _day.

* * *

Night had come around once again upon the town of Archet, and Saf again found herself working in the tavern alongside a silent Claude, who had gone to giving her the cold shoulder when their evening shift had started.

It was childish and irritating as hell, but Saf was never one to apologize easily, even when she was in the wrong, so they had been studiously ignoring each other the whole night, instead making their rounds and serving the patrons, who had thinned out considerably due to many of the merchants and their caravans beginning to head back south, now done with their trading business.

Saf was bothered by her and Claude's predicament, though not overly troubled by it, which only made her feel worse in reality. Claude had been one of the only people in Archet who had first accepted her, back when she was "the Great Adventurer," and she disliked her silence. She was one of the only females Saf had ever trusted in her life, and she hoped that whatever had happened would blow over soon, so they could go back to talking about Claude's suitors and just being _girls, _something Saf had never experienced until this town.

She steered clear of the Company and Gandalf that night, letting Claude handle their food and drinks; she was dismayed to find that they would be staying one more night, though she had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Gandalf hoping she would change her mind, which she was _not _planning on doing.

_Maybe I should tell him to just get lost. _She thought, when she glanced over at their table yet again and saw the Wizard and Thorin Oakenshield in deep discussion. _The old man's wasting his breath with me. No use beating something that's already dead and all that._

Her musings were cut short, however, when there was a sudden shout from the doorway of the inn, and Saf looked up to see the butcher, Branson Beauer, stumble into the tavern, his large pink face shining with a sheen of sweat and his jowls quivering as he pointed frantically outside of the inn.

"Branson?" Mr. Pennybrook said in confusion, stepping forward as the tavern fell silent, every eye turning to the frantic man. "Branson, what is it?"

But in the sudden silence, Saf could hear it: horses, a lot of them, trundling down the road, and the sounds of shattering glass and rousing screams from the townsfolk, and she cursed as she realized what was happening.

"Raiders from Combe," she said loudly, stepping into the parlor as there were shocked exclamations and heads swiveled in her direction. "They're here."

It took a few moments for her words to sink in, but instantly there was an uproar as people shot to their feet, the few female locals who had been in the tavern immediately being rushed out to safe houses the community had set up in case of events like this, and those men who weren't helping evacuate drew their weapons and charged out, ready to defend the town, even some of the leftover merchants joining in, looking forward to the prospect of a fight.

"Saf, come on!" Claude called, as she pulled a disgruntled Edgar away from the rushing men and was herded upstairs by their mother and father.

Saf nodded quickly, her fingers twitching towards the dagger up her sleeve, but she forced her hand to stay at her side as she pushed her way through the throng of men, trying to head back to her room, where she would be safe; she had already been berated enough for trying to fight in past raids, and she wasn't keen on raising the town's ire once more, no matter how much she wanted to help, so she'd be a good girl for once, and lock herself in her room, despite the way her stomach knotted angrily at the thought.

She was halfway across the parlor when her arm was suddenly wrapped in a strong grip, and she didn't think, just acted as she whipped her dagger out and whirled around, stopping short when she realized it was only Gandalf.

"Safavael," the Wizard said urgently, and Saf paused at the slightly uneasy tone he used when he spoke. "I need a favor from you."

_"What?" _Saf said incredulously, yanking her arm out of the Wizard's grasp. "Seriously? At a time like _this?"_

"Hide the Company," he said, and her mouth dropped open in shock. "Safavael, please, you must do this for us; Thorin's quest is an absolute secret. Under no circumstances should there be questions aroused about what he and his kin are doing, do you understand me? These raiders must not see them, not if they intend to inflict harm."

"These raiders are nothing more than simple folk, Gandalf," Saf said, though when she glanced over his shoulder and saw the Company, she already knew what her answer was going to be. "They only come to steal food and money for their poor town and starving families, nothing serious such as women, and they rarely ever kill."

"Well, take it as years of wisdom speaking, but I sense it is not that way tonight," he said ominously, and Saf froze, wondering what that could possibly mean.

She glanced once more at the Company, taking in their tense bodies and disgruntled expressions as they kept casting looks to outside of the inn, and Saf knew they wanted to help, no matter what Gandalf's orders, which seemed to finally break through her hesitation.

"All right," Saf conceded, knowing she would probably regret this later, but not seeing much else she could do. "Follow me."

* * *

**Author's Note**

_Nithil - _(Adunaic); "daughter" lit. "girl" (There was no literal word for daughter, so I made due)

Anyway, thanks again to all those who reviewed/favorited/followed! Reviews and feedback are always appreciated, so let me know what your thoughts are!

Thanks again!


	4. 4: Burning the Bridges

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Quick A/N: **_Hello, all! Sorry for not updating in...forever. But here's a new chapter that will hopefully make up for all that time I could've been updating. Hope you like!_

**Many thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed so far, and thanks to the reviewers from last time: Shiningheart of ThunderClan, killthepain62, Snowball A.K.A Winterwolf, PrimeEmily135, KoreanMusicFan, Blondielocks99, BlueRiverSteel, lovingthisbook, Unorthodox-Turian, and all you Guests!**

* * *

Chapter Four: Burning Bridges

Saf led the way to her rooms quickly, Gandalf following close behind with the hobbit hot on his heels, looking quite pale in the face as the dwarves made up the rear, looking around warily as Saf came to a stop outside of her door.

She extracted the key from her apron and began sliding it into locks, hearing one click after another as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for them to enter.

"This is a room," Thorin said incredulously, looking at Saf stonily as the Company hesitated, all crammed together in the hallway and staring at her with varying degrees of suspicion and confusion. "Are you just planning on stashing us in a broom cupboard for the rest of the night?"

"Ever heard the saying 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth?'" Saf snapped back, annoyed that the dwarf was choosing this particular time to be a stubborn mule as the sounds of the raiders seemed to grow closer in the few minutes it was taking them to have this conversation.

When Thorin merely scowled, Saf rolled her eyes and gestured to the open door. "Just get in, and try not to touch anything."

With a last glare, Thorin stomped into the room, the rest of the dwarves filing in behind him along with the hobbit. Gandalf passed her last, and he put a brief hand on her shoulder and smiled gratefully before stepping through the door, Saf sighing out her nose and closing the door behind her before redoing all of the locks.

In here, the sounds of the raid seemed louder, but she knew it was only because of the small window that looked out upon the town that was allowing the noise to permeate the room. Elbowing her way through the dwarves, Saf went over to the window and peered between the bars, seeing horses galloping past carrying shouting men with torches and swords while townsfolk dashed to and fro, some running to escape the men and others rushing forward to engage as the clash of metal rang out through the streets.

Farther below the hill, a flash of light suddenly pierced through the darkness, and screams swelled from the townspeople as a building caught fire, raiders gathered around it and jeering as they threw more torches and cloths soaked in some flammable substance into the flames.

Saf stepped away from the window then, her stomach churning as she jerked the curtains over the bars, seeing the image of another burning building come to mind when she blinked before shoving it away and burying it deep once more.

Exhaling a heavy breath, Saf turned to the Company behind her, who all stood around uncertainly and kept casting her wary looks; something to be expected, of course, but it still irked her all the same. Wasn't she the one _protecting_ them from the raiders?

"So," she began awkwardly, tapping her hands against her sides as she gazed at the silent Company. "I'm Saf, if you didn't know already. And seeing as I only know Gandalf and your leader here, along with Master Balin, I believe introductions are in order, especially as we seem to have already progressed to the point where I've invited you all into my rooms."

She looked around at them expectantly, as the dwarves all traded uncomfortable glances before the hobbit was surprisingly the first to step forward, bowing a little at the waist and saying, "Bilbo Baggins. Pleasure to meet you despite the, er, strange circumstances."

"Well met, Master Baggins," she said, giving the gentle creature a soft smile as he nodded back, his own lips twitching up in response.

Obviously bolstered by the hobbit's introduction, all the other dwarves had soon stepped forward and given her their names, and, oddly, their services, as well. There were so many Saf only half-listened to them, only able to pick out the names of those that stuck out above the others in her mind, such as Bifur, who had the remains of an axe embedded in his skull and could only speak in Khuzdûl, apparently, and Dwalin, the hulking mass of muscle she had seen on several occasions now with the giant battleaxes strapped to his back.

"Excellent," Saf said when they had finished. "Now that that's settled – don't touch that!"

Her sharp tone instantly halted the movements of the younger, handsome dwarf with the dark hair and strange stubble, and he retracted the hand he had been reaching for the handle of her wardrobe with, flushing slightly as the others all stared at him.

"Apologies," he said, clearing his throat and standing up a little straighter, and Saf wondered if he was some kind of nobility due to his obvious training in mannerisms and rich, insignia-embroidered clothes. "I, ah, wasn't going to look—"

"Oh, I don't care about that," Saf said, waving him off. "Just that unless you wanted to look like the crossbreed of a dwarf and a porcupine, I wouldn't want to touch that if I were you."

The dwarf (she had a sneaking suspicion he was the one named Kíli) blanched at this statement, while the rest of the Company looked to her in horrified bafflement that she tried not to be too entertained by.

"You have to apply exactly the right pressure at precisely the right places," she explained, gesturing to the peeling golden handle. "Otherwise, you get to walk around with a bunch of spikes in your hand until you find a way to remove them."

"Why on _earth _would you have that sort of contraption?" One dwarf with grey hair spluttered, his wide face looking almost comical as he stared at her as if she were mad.

"Don't get your breeches in a twist, brother," another dwarf with sandy auburn hair styled into something resembling triangles scoffed, rolling shrewd grey eyes at the other. "It's quite fascinating, actually."

Saf took some pride in this; after all, while Adler may have helped her install it, she had been the one to design it and put it into effect, which she almost informed them of before Thorin stepped forward, scowling, as usual.

"Gandalf said you could offer us protection," he said lowly, his blue eyes boring into Saf's as she stared back impassively. "So unless your idea of protection includes trapping us all in a room with the potential to kill us, I'd like to get on with it and get my Company out of here."

Saf pursed her lips, eyeing the dwarf up and down before gesturing to Dwalin.

"Master Dwalin," she said, and the burly dwarf started at the sound of his name. "If you'd be so kind as to move the bed you're standing by to the far left side of the room…"

She waved a vague hand in that direction, and after a furtive glance at Thorin to see if he would object, he grabbed the mattress and pushed it away from the wall it was currently situated against with the ease of shifting a blanket.

Saf nodded in appreciation before stepping up to the wall, feeling the Company's eyes on her back as she raised a hand and rapped her knuckles smartly on the wall, each knock hitting a different brick until there was a click, and then a loud rumbling as a door none would ever have known to be there slowly opened, revealing a dark passageway beyond.

Ignoring the Company's mutters and exclamations, Saf grabbed one of the lanterns on her bedside table and thrust it into Thorin's hands, who took it with some disgruntlement and confusion.

"This used to be the old sewer system before the new one was built about thirty years ago," she said in response to their puzzled looks. "Just follow the passageway until you reach an intersection with different tunnels; I'll meet you there and take you down the right one."

"What about our supplies and ponies?" Thorin demanded. "We will need those."

"The stables are at the bottom of the hill," she said, bewildered. "We'd have to sneak around the raiders to get them; and that's assuming they haven't bolted or been stolen already."

"Our supplies are with the ponies," he reiterated. "I will not ask you to put yourself at risk for us, but if need be I will lead us there myself."

_Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. _Saf thought in irritation, before nodding stiffly to the raven-haired dwarf.

"Very well," she said. "I will lead you to the stables, if only to see you get there in one piece. But go now, and _wait _for me at the intersection."

She glared pointedly at this last part, and though the dwarf's jaw clenched, he didn't argue, instead jerking his head at the Company and leading them into the passageway.

Gandalf brought up the rear again, but before he ducked into the tunnel, he turned and faced Saf with a quizzical expression.

"What are you staying behind for?" He asked, and Saf gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I'll meet you down there soon," was all she replied with. "Make sure they don't do anything stupid, like try and find their own way out."

Obviously bothered by her answer (or lack thereof), he frowned but started down the passageway, nonetheless, following the distant bob of golden light that was Thorin leading the way with the lantern.

When the tapping of the Wizard's staff receded down the passage, Saf let out a loud groan, gripping the sides of her pinned hair in dismay.

She should have fled as soon as she heard Gandalf's name in Adler's shop. The Grey Wizard had spelled nothing but trouble for her ever since she had first met him, and this time was no different. How could she have been stupid enough to let herself get involved with a bunch of stubborn, rock-headed dwarves, especially when she was now tasked with _protecting _said dwarves?

She dropped her hands, twisting the ring on her finger agitatedly as she bit her lip, debating on what to do.

Leaving the dwarves to their own devices was something she wouldn't do; she'd see them out safely, she knew, but how far was she willing to go to help them?

_I'll get them out of town, _she decided._ Lead them through a safe part of the woods where they can avoid the Road for a few days just as a precaution. And when it is safe enough for them to venture on their own, I'll come back here._

But there was no way she could lead them into the wild like this, she thought, wearing her barmaid's dress with only one dagger to defend herself with. Gandalf had been right in his assumption that these were not simple raiders; they were something else, a traveling ring of bandits, perhaps, and one dagger was not enough to keep her protected against the destructive men she had seen pillaging the town outside of her window.

With a sinking feeling, Saf turned to her wardrobe and popped it open, her heart rate increasing with something like excitement – or dread – as she took in the contents before her.

Clothes were the main item, but in here, there was no sign of any dresses or frivolity befitting a simple barmaid; all of her old cloaks and tunics and pants had been stashed away in here, remnants of her days in the wild, and stored at the bottom was the pair of boots she had worn for years before coming to Archet.

Beyond her old clothes, however, were the things Saf was really after. Shoving aside coats and shirts, her eyes came to rest on the back panels of the wardrobe, her breath catching at the sight of her once-treasured items.

The back of the wardrobe was dedicated to a space for all of her old weapons, and something in her heart began to yearn again as she took in her sword, encased in a black and silver patterned scabbard with a matching grip and bright silver hilt and pommel, still gleaming despite the years it had spent locked away. Her eyes traced next over the ivory-handled twin daggers hanging beside the sword, and above the blades, the bow and quiver of arrows that had once belonged to her mother before they were given to her.

Saf felt a shiver run down her spine at the sight of her old life, but she tried her best not to feel anything, instead focusing on the task at hand and shedding her dress for the more practical clothes inside the wardrobe.

Working quickly, she slid on a pair of weathered black pants and an equally beaten tunic, buttoning a black coat over the dark ensemble and grabbing a grey cloak for good measure, slightly stained at the bottom from years of dragging it through mud and rivers, but it didn't bother her. She tugged on the worn boots sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe, the supple leather conforming to her feet and calves instantaneously, as if she had never been out of them in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, Saf then reached into the back of the wardrobe and grabbed all of her old weapons, belting the twin daggers to her waist and slinging the quiver and her sword on her back, the straps secured across her chest as she gripped the bow tightly in her hand, nostalgia threatening to overwhelm her.

Saf had expected her body to feel awkward and uncomfortable from the presence of the weapons, after seven years of keeping them locked away in a wardrobe, but she was surprised when she couldn't detect that feeling at all; in fact, it felt like she had never relinquished them at all.

Figuring it was time to stop marveling at the memories she was having, though, Saf dropped to her knees and yanked up the floorboards in the center of her room, digging around until her hand bumped into a cloth sack and she pulled it out, checking inside to see if all of her emergency supplies were still there.

After cataloging some dried stores of food, a bedroll, two water-skins, basic medical supplies, and some other miscellaneous items, Saf swung the pack over her shoulders, adjusting it so it wouldn't be in the way of her arrows or sword, before replacing the floorboards and getting to her feet, brushing the dirt from her knees.

Grabbing the spare lantern that hung next to her bedroom door, Saf looked around one last time to make sure she had everything, feeling a twist in her gut as she did so. It wasn't until she approached the threshold of the passageway that she realized what the feeling was; it was an urge almost, a persistent prod telling her to get out, and never look back – like this would be the last time she would ever see this room again.

Slightly alarmed by the presence of this feeling, Saf did her best to shake it off before entering the passageway and tapping the door to shut behind her, sealing her into the old tunnels as she grasped her bow tighter and started forward.

The going was silent, except for the occasional _drip-drip _of the moisture on the stones above as it fell to the floor and the slight scuffs of her boots as she walked. The air was musty and cold, despite the warm weather on the surface, but Saf was just thankful that there was no evidence of this place ever being a sewer at one point as she went on, the lantern casting golden light on the slimy walls and showing her the path through the darkness.

When the passageway began to slope downwards, the echo of quiet voices reached Saf's ears from further down the tunnel, and she soon rounded a bend in the path that led her to the intersection she had been talking about, with the three branching tunnels and the Company standing before them, looking disgruntled and impatient.

"This must be my lucky night," Saf announced dramatically as she came upon the Company, and they all started and whipped around at her presence as she grinned. "I was afraid you all were going to leave without saying goodbye."

Thorin glared, looking as if he were refraining from pinching the bridge of his nose as he gestured her forward, glancing at the tunnels in disdain.

"Just lead us to the stables," he grunted.

"Certainly," Saf replied coolly, turning to face the tunnel that branched to the left. "Follow me."

She led the way into the tunnel, where the passageway dipped and began to curve in a crescent shape, leading them back down to the bottom of the hill at the base of the town. They did not speak, fortunately, but Saf winced every time one of them slipped on the damp stone or one of their weapons scratched against the wall, letting out a metallic screeching that made all of them groan as the passageway became too narrow for some of the heavier dwarves to walk comfortably.

Finally, after about ten minutes or so, Saf came to a stop outside of a rusty grate that would lead them to the surface above, and she strained her ears to hear what was happening above them in the streets.

The sounds of horse hoofs and hollering men had faded somewhat into the distance, and Saf assumed the raiders had traveled further up the hill, heading towards the tavern, and she prayed that the Pennybrooks' were well hidden in case the inn was looted, which Saf felt saddened by as she knew it was bound to happen. But for her, the absence of the raiders was a good thing, and she waved the Company after her as she shoved at the old grate.

The noise was terrible as Saf continued to push, gritting her teeth against the sound and the effort it was taking her to move the damned thing, feeling rust flaking off on her hands as the metal refused to yield to her, and she let out a string of curses she felt was appropriate as the grate didn't budge.

Saf looked up as a body bumped against her elbow, her brows arching in surprise when she recognized Thorin beside her as he grabbed the grate with large, sturdy hands and nodded to her, giving her the signal to push.

Getting over her slight shock, she nodded back and they pushed together, the grate finally yielding and opening with a keening wail that Saf pulled a face at as Thorin shook his head, as if to be rid of the noise.

"This way," Saf urged, beckoning them to follow as she retrieved her lantern from the dwarf with the mittens she presumed was Ori and crept out from the grate, raking her eyes over their surroundings to see if there were any raiders close by.

This area of town was eerily quiet, the townsfolk having fled to bar themselves in their homes and the raiders having moved uphill, as she had predicted. Saf would have thought the town was fine on any other night, but as she saw the crackling flames of the burning building (which turned out to be the jailhouse, ironically enough; though she was glad Archet was not a town to keep any prisoners as she watched the hungry flames tear at the structure greedily), she knew they were not in the clear just yet.

"Come on," she whispered, and she stood guard while one by one, the Company clambered out of the grate, many grunts and curses punctuating the air with each dwarf's emergence. Saf was jittery with impatience while she waited; the dwarves were taking a terribly long time, especially as the one named Bombur had taken at least five minutes to get out by himself, and she hoped that their luck would hold and the raiders would not venture back down this way as all of them finally joined her on the surface.

She started forward, heading to the stables only a few feet away, when the sudden noise of hoof beats reached her ears and she whirled around, eyes widening when she saw a bandit rushing down the hill towards them, alone and not having noticed them yet, but she knew that was about to change when the man's eyes suddenly locked on hers from down the street.

"Go," she told the dwarves, as they all noticed what she was staring at and raised their weapons. "Don't worry about him; just run."

Thorin hesitated, shooting her a sharp look as the others all stood, waiting for him, and Saf met his eyes quickly, hoping she could convey to him enough trust that would get his hard arse moving.

Something in her gaze seemed to convince him, fortunately, and he barked a command in Khuzdûl before dashing to the stables, the Company hot on his heels as the bandit spurred his horse faster toward them, a savage grin painted across his face in the light from the blazing jailhouse.

Saf stood her ground, waiting for the bandit to ride closer, before she hurled the lantern she was still holding at his horse's feet, the glass shattering and the flames sparking on the ground, causing the horse to rear and scream as the bandit shouted, tumbling into the dirt as the beast fled, leaving him alone in the street.

Saf turned, preparing herself to run after the others to the stables, when a flash of white caught her eye and she froze, turning back slowly to the bandit as her heart dropped somewhere beyond her toes.

Instantly her shock blazed into anger, and before she was entirely aware of her actions, she had drawn one of the daggers at her waist and stepped forward, shoving the man back to the ground roughly and pinning his chest with her knee as he cursed and gasped underneath her, still winded from his fall.

Saf grabbed for the small bag beside the man that had landed there after he fell, acid burning the back of her throat as she recognized the contents: leaves, painted with a waxy white, and she could feel her fingers trembling violently as she shoved the leaves in the man's face, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage as she hissed, "Who do you work for, and why are you here?"

"Like I'd tell you, bitch," the man wheezed, and Saf dug her knee deeper into his ribs, causing the man to arch his back and suck in a pained breath between his teeth.

"Answer me," she snarled, shaking the leaves in her fist as she brought the dagger up to rest underneath his chin.

The man chuckled, seemingly unfazed by her hostility, but she saw his dilated pupils and the sweat sliding down his face, and knew his act was as fake as a wooden leg.

"I work for no one," the man sneered with false coolness. "But I do know of a certain someone who would love nothing more than to see your heart served on a platter of Gondor's finest."

Saf felt the blood drain from her face, but she didn't respond to the man's obvious jibe; instead, she took the butt of her dagger and smashed it into his temple – not enough to kill him, but enough to give him one nasty headache tomorrow as she tossed the leaves down in disgust upon his chest, standing up and sheathing her dagger.

"Looks like that feast will have to wait then," she said to the bandit's prone form, before spinning on her heel and sprinting for the stables, her heart hammering as if she had run a thousand leagues.

_"I do know of a certain someone who would love nothing more than to see your heart served on a platter of Gondor's finest."_

She saw the white leaves in her mind's eye and resisted the urge to vomit, fear and panic clawing at her gut as she ran, barely aware of her surroundings.

It wasn't possible – not after all these years, not after her disappearance. It just couldn't happen—

"There you are, you foolhardy girl!" Gandalf's booming voice brought Saf back to the present, and she realized with a start that she had reached the stables, shock managing to penetrate through her horror as she realized the Company was still waiting on her. "Come along!"

"Right." Saf said dumbly, grabbing a horse from the nearest stall that luckily didn't resist her or try and flee, only following her obediently as she led it out by its bridle and climbed into the saddle, in somewhat of a daze.

That soon changed, however, when there was an alarmed cry from Ori, and Saf followed the direction his finger was pointing and cursed as she saw a group of at least a dozen bandits galloping down the hill towards them.

"Go, quickly!" Saf shouted. "Make for the woods!"

The dwarves didn't need telling twice; led by Gandalf and Thorin, they raced out of the stables and fled into the trees bordering the town, their ponies' legs looking like little blurs as they disappeared into the woods.

Saf made to follow, but stopped when she noticed the hobbit, Bilbo, still struggling to mount his horse, his face red with exertion and panic as his pony pawed the ground nervously, threatening to crush one of his large, hairy feet as he slipped back out of the saddle.

Spurring her horse forward, Saf rode by and grasped the hobbit around the waist, pulling him into the saddle before her as he yelped and gripped the horse's hair, his body stiff and ramrod straight.

"With me, Master Baggins," she said as they dashed out of the stables, and she could hear the hobbit gasping for breath in front of her.

"B-but my pony!" He spluttered. "Myrtle—"

"Will be fine," Saf finished firmly. "Your pony is smart, Master Baggins, she will follow."

Bilbo nodded once, too scared to say anything more, and Saf spurred her horse on faster as the yells and jeers of the bandits echoed much too close for her liking behind them.

They ducked into the trees together, their horse racing on into the night, and Saf tried not to imagine the leaves around her turning white as they went, nor the shadows that seemed to reach for her as they rode on.

* * *

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	5. 5: A Matter of Trust

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

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* * *

Chapter Five: A Matter of Trust

The only sounds in the forest were Saf and Bilbo's heavy breathing and the horse's thundering hoof beats as they flitted through the trees, Saf guiding the reins around the roots and low-hanging branches appearing out of the gloom that threatened to hinder their speed as they ran on through the dark trees.

Saf could detect nothing of the bandits from Archet, and she assumed they had stayed behind in the town rather than give chase as there were no sounds of pursuit from behind them. It was relieving, not having to worry about a confrontation with the bandits, but at the same time Saf couldn't help but fear what else they were going to do to the town in her absence.

She hoped they had gotten what they wanted and were leaving soon, yet something in her gut told her they hadn't come just to plunder and steal as she flashed back to the white leaves strewn about the ground, and the bandit she had spoken with before her flight.

Suppressing a shudder, Saf focused her attention back on her surroundings, her eyes picking out every small detail she could find in the dark that would help lead her to the Company. She assumed they were on the right path, for there were many branches broken and bent back, possibly from the broad bodies of the dwarves as they had gone through, and the ground was very uneven and the earth disturbed from the many hooves that would have trampled the dirt.

"Have we lost the others?" Bilbo spoke up from in front, and Saf didn't miss the small waver in his voice, though he had tried to hide it.

She did not draw attention to it, though, instead replying, "Not at all, Master Baggins. They are actually quite close now."

The hobbit said nothing, but Saf felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as he slumped in the saddle, seemingly exhausted from the ordeal they had faced that night, and she didn't blame him.

True to Saf's word, she could soon see shadows moving in a clearing ahead, and she trundled through the trees before her horse suddenly reared, letting out a scream at the same time Bilbo cried out, and Saf gripped the hobbit's waist to keep him from being thrown as she yanked on the reins herself to avoid toppling off the back.

"Whoa!" She cried, tapping the horse's sides gently to get it to calm as her eyes zeroed in on what had spooked the beast, her teeth gritting as she saw the dwarf Kíli standing half in the shadows, arrow drawn and bow aiming straight at them, though he put it down quickly upon realizing who they were.

"Stand down," he called to the others, and Saf's eyes narrowed when she saw the rest of the Company melt from the trees, hastily stowing away their weapons as they congregated in the clearing before them.

"Have you no common sense?" Saf snapped, whirling on the dark-haired dwarf with a scowl as he looked slightly abashed. "You could have killed us!"

"We thought you might have been one of the bandits," he said defensively. "But apologies for the confusion, Miss Saf."

"Yes, because one bandit would have dared to pursue a Company of thirteen dwarves," she snorted, if only to cover up her alarm at having been caught off-guard such as she had. "That makes perfect sense."

"Again, sorry about that," Kíli said, before Thorin strode forward just then, sheathing his sword at his waist and glaring up at Saf, still atop the horse, though fortunately the creature had calmed now.

"Were you followed?" He asked stonily, and Saf shook her head.

"Unless you count that pony, then no, we were not," she said, and the Company looked around her to where she had gestured to see Bilbo's pony trot out of the trees, flanks heaving from running but looking quite unharmed, as Saf had predicted.

"Myrtle!" Bilbo said happily, and Saf helped the hobbit slide off her horse so he could attend to his own, his legs wobbly as he stood back on solid ground, though at least he was still upright.

Saf dismounted after him, patting her horse's neck in thanks as Thorin spoke up again.

"We'll camp here for the night," he said, before gesturing to Saf and Bilbo. "The rest of the ponies are on the outskirts over there, if you would like to put yours with them."

Saf nodded as the dwarves began to set up camp, laying out bedrolls, retrieving rations and pipes, and starting a fire in the center of the clearing as she began to lead her horse forward, only stopping when she saw Bilbo struggling to lead Myrtle by her bridle.

"Master Baggins, I can take your pony if you'd like," she offered, and the hobbit turned at the sound of her voice, smiling and looking quite relieved as he handed her the reins.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I, ah, never really had the opportunity to be around horses much, so you could say I am quite uneducated when it comes to handling them."

"Well, that ought to change soon, then, if you're to be riding one for the duration of your journey," she replied, before looking the hobbit up and down as he grinned sheepishly. "Tell you what, Master Baggins; I'll teach you how to properly ride and care for your horse, that way you can have one less thing to worry about on the road, if you accept it."

"That sounds quite acceptable," he said, and Saf quirked a grin at the hobbit.

"Very well," she said. "We shall begin on the morrow, then."

She moved away with both horses in tow after Bilbo had nodded enthusiastically, though once the hobbit had gone toward the camp, Saf suddenly frowned to herself. She had decided she would stay with the Company for only a few days, just until they were safe to journey back on to the Road, and now she had offered to train the hobbit in horseback?

_Just for a few days, _she reminded herself, as she found the ponies and tied Myrtle and her stolen horse up with the others. _I can teach him the basics in that time, at least._

Saf finished her task and was about to turn towards the camp when she felt a presence at her back, and she stifled a sigh, saying without turning around, "Do you require something of me, Gandalf?"

The Wizard came up beside her, leaning on his staff as he gazed at her thoughtfully, and Saf in turn stared into the shadowy woods, already having dealt with him quite enough these past few days and not really wanting to add to that.

"Require something? No, I should think not," he said, and Saf let out a little _hrmph. _"But I do believe some thanks are in order for your help with the Company tonight."

"It was a debt repaid, nothing more," she said uncomfortably, wondering why everyone was offering her so much gratitude lately. "We will be going our separate ways in a few short days, so it was the least I could do before moving on again."

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked, looking at her with furrowed grey brows.

"Archet is not safe for me anymore," she said, raising one of her shoulders in a shrug. "You were right, Gandalf; those raiders were much more than simple bandits, and I will not stay in a town where I could be exposed at any moment. It is time for me to go."

"These bandits," Gandalf said slowly. "You recognized them?"

Saf nodded stiffly, her discomfort growing with each passing second.

"I did not recognize them specifically; only what they stood for," she said darkly. "But at least one of them seemed to remember me."

Gandalf gave her a puzzled look, and Saf prepared herself for a long conversation, knowing the Wizard wouldn't stop pestering her for every last detail even if she were buried in her own grave.

"I had an altercation with one of the bandits," she explained, as Gandalf listened raptly. "I was going to leave it alone, until I saw what he was carrying: impressions of the White Leaves, from the Tree of Gondor. I demanded to know who he worked for, but he would not answer, only stating that someone high up in his chain of command would love nothing more than to see me dead; and that was when I knew I was no longer safe."

"Then it was the Watchers who had attacked?" Gandalf asked, baffled, and Saf nodded solemnly. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," she responded dryly. "I think I would know better than most, seeing as I had many dealings with them before."

Gandalf shook his head, his features lined with confusion and concern. "I do not understand," he said finally. "How would they know to look so far north, especially after being so dormant all these years in Gondor?"

"I was hoping you could tell _me _that," Saf said, looking at the Wizard and raising a brow, and Gandalf scowled as he understood her implication.

"Are you suggesting that I had a hand in this attack, Safavael Tinnuhiril?" He growled, his voice like a low rumble of thunder, yet she was unfazed, simply shrugging.

"I'm not suggesting anything," she said calmly. "But you are the Wandering Wizard, are you not? It is easy for one to wonder if your mouth may have wandered too far for spies of Gondor to hear of my whereabouts."

"That is absurd," Gandalf snapped. "I have always admired your caution, Safavael, but it seems that life as a hermit has pushed you to the edges of paranoid in this matter. What reason would I have to betray you?"

Saf did not reply to this, not having an answer herself, instead saying, "I cannot stay in Archet, Gandalf. The Watchers swore to kill me should they ever find me, and I cannot risk them bringing harm to that town again should I return."

"Then where are you to go?" Gandalf asked, but Saf was already shaking her head when she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"This changes nothing, Gandalf," she said. "I will not go on the quest with you and this Company; it is not my place."

"What other options do you have, then?" He asked shrewdly, and Saf chewed on her lower lip, not quite having an answer for him yet.

When it was clear she was not going to say anything, the Wizard sighed, suddenly sounding weary.

"If there is nothing else for you here, Safavael, then please consider helping these dwarves, at the very least," he said quietly. "I think you of all people would understand their quest the most."

She remained silent until Gandalf had turned and made his way back to camp, before expelling a large breath and hanging her head, feeling a faint throb start to emanate from her temples as the events of the day crashed into her like a tidal wave.

Her decision was resolute, that much she knew; she would not return to Archet, nor would she join the Company of Thorin Oakenshield on their quest to reclaim Erebor. Despite Gandalf's wishes, she had a feeling that the quest would offer her more harm than good; it was far too easy to be found traveling on the Road rather than being a nameless resident of an equally nameless town. And though Gandalf was adamant that she understood these dwarves better than some, Saf was not as agreeable as he; the Lonely Mountain was not her home, and it never would be, even if she were to help them. She was not a Dwarf; it was not her place to step in and offer her assistance, not when everything they knew was on the line, and she was an outsider who could never understand the value of such things they held dear.

But then, where had she to go? She had been wandering Eriador for so long, had seen every place west of the Misty Mountains that her places of refuge were growing slim. She could make for the Gap of Rohan, she supposed, and settle in the Westfold; it was close enough to Gondor to where the Watchers would not suspect her of daring to venture so near, yet it was far enough away from Minas Tirith to where she would not have to live in constant fear of being sighted. It seemed the best option for her at this point, yet Saf was not entirely convinced of it, her mind wandering back to Gandalf's last words: _"If there is nothing else for you here, Safavael, then please consider helping these dwarves, at the very least."_

A snapping of a twig behind her broke Saf out of her thoughts, yet once again she remained facing forward, knowing who it was going to be even before he said anything.

"Is it impossible for a woman to have a moment to herself?" She said, speaking to the trees as Thorin Oakenshield halted at her shoulder, clasping his hands behind him and standing tall, though the top of his head was still several inches below her own.

Thorin ignored her, opting to stand in silence for several minutes as Saf inwardly rolled her eyes, wondering what the dwarf wanted from her.

Finally, after several awkward minutes had passed, Thorin spoke up, his voice low as he asked, "Why did you help my Company?"

Saf gave a noncommittal shrug, keeping her answer short as she said, "Gandalf asked me to."

"You feel loyalty towards him, then?" He asked, turning slightly to face her, but Saf did not meet his eyes.

"He helped me out of a tight spot once," was all she said. "I owed him a favor."

Thorin grunted deep in his throat, his rich baritone vibrating as he crossed his arms.

"It is unusual for a woman to put her life at such risk in repayment of a debt involving complete strangers," he noted.

"You are Thorin Oakenshield," she replied blandly. "I know your name, and you mine. Seems like an acquaintance to me."

Thorin shot her a look, his voice stony as he snapped, "Yet you are a stranger to my men and me. You may have helped us, but that does not constitute trust."

"And you may not have stuck a knife in my back when you had the chance, yet that does not constitute my trust of you, either," she countered. "Trust is a mirror, Thorin Oakenshield; one must ask himself the same question as his reflection if he wants the answers he seeks. And as of right now, I know you do not trust me, so pray tell – why should I trust _you?"_

When he did not immediately answer, Saf gave him a sardonic half-grin and slipped away into the trees, navigating her way through the shadows until she found herself at the makeshift pony pen once more.

She walked through the dozing creatures, listening to their soft nickers and snorts as they slept at their posts, and Saf found the presence of the animals much more comforting than that of either Gandalf or Thorin Oakenshield. She had had quite enough conversation for one night, and now all she wanted was to settle someplace quiet and peaceful so she could sleep.

She found her stolen horse and approached it when she saw it was still awake, gazing at her with intelligent dark eyes through the gloom. It was a beautiful brown mare, her coat so dark it could almost be considered black, with a white stripe down her nose that Saf traced with her fingers, the horse nuzzling into her hand at the contact.

Saf smiled softly to herself, remembering her childhood horse as this one so closely resembled it, and she leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially in its ear. "I'm sorry for stealing you," she said. "But if you'd like, I can give you a name."

The mare flicked her ears in response, and Saf took that as a yes as she said, "All right; I dub thee as Frigg, then. You like that?"

The horse dipped her head, as if to acknowledge the new name, and Saf patted her flank one last time before bidding the newly christened Frigg goodnight and crossing over to a tree some distance away, climbing into the lowermost branches and settling her back against the trunk, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her.

Not even bothering to secure herself on the branch, she leaned her head back and was asleep in less than two minutes, her dreams filled with images of white towers and a dead white tree that seemed to whisper her name.

* * *

"Miss Saf?" A voice was calling early the next morning, and Saf jerked awake, fortunately still in the tree as she hurriedly blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, listening for the voice again. "Miss Saf, are you still here?"

Recognizing Bilbo as the one who was calling for her, Saf slipped down from the tree and landed quietly on the ground behind the hobbit as he wandered through the ponies, looking to see if either her or her horse were still there.

"I'm here, Master Baggins," she said, approaching him from behind as he jumped slightly and turned at the sound of her voice.

"Oh, good," he said, relieved. "The Company is preparing to leave, and I wanted to see if you would like some breakfast before we set out."

Saf nodded, giving the hobbit a small smile. "That sounds wonderful," she said, as her stomach growled in response, and Bilbo smiled back before gesturing her after him as they went back to the dwarves' camp.

They walked in amiable silence for a few moments, before Bilbo cleared his throat and spoke up, Saf looking to him attentively.

"I thought for a moment that you might have left," he said as they walked, and Saf raised a brow at the hobbit's admission. "You did not return to the camp last night, and when I went to find you…"

"I did not return to the camp because it was not mine to intrude on," Saf told him. "I am your guide for a few days, at the most, not your companion; it did not seem right to think of myself as such."

"You saved our lives last night," Bilbo reminded her, and Saf grimaced, wondering why everyone kept referring to her actions as heroic, when all she had done was help them flee into the woods. "You could have stayed with us; I'm sure the others wouldn't have minded. After all, they have learned to tolerate me, and so far all I've done is sign a contract and complain about not having any handkerchiefs."

Saf snorted at this last part, though the mention of a contract piqued her interest. "What contract do you mean?"

Bilbo gave her a sidelong look before shrugging his small shoulders. "I was hired as a burglar for their quest."

Saf spluttered, blinking rapidly as she stared at the hobbit, wondering if he was being serious. "A _burglar? _Whatever for?"

Bilbo looked away uncomfortably, and Saf got the feeling he was not allowed to divulge such information, so instead of pressing she just waved away her question.

"Never mind," she said. "It doesn't matter." When Bilbo gave her a grateful look, she continued on, saying, "Well, burglar or not, Master Baggins, I find you quite tolerable, if that's any consolation."

Bilbo chuckled just as they reached the camp, saying, "Thank you, Miss Saf. Always good to know I'm still respectable in the eyes of some people."

Saf grinned, finding herself enjoying the hobbit's presence and feeling quite disappointed when they entered the dwarves' clearing and their conversation was cut short as the rest of the Company caught sight of her.

"Ah, there you are, Miss Saf!" The dwarf with the floppy hat and brown braids said, and after some hard thinking Saf remembered him to be Bofur as he gestured her over to the fire, where food was being served to the others by the immense ginger dwarf she definitely recognized as Bombur. "You better hurry if you want any food, before Fíli here eats it all."

He gestured to the handsome blond dwarf standing by Kíli's side as the two loaded their plates, and Saf smirked as he looked up and complained, "Hey!"

"No need to worry, Master Bofur," she said, raising a hand in peace as Fíli glared at the grinning dwarf. "I'm sure there is enough to go around without blaming the others for the extras you seem to be piling on your plate as it is."

Bofur, who had been trying to discreetly slide another piece of bacon onto his plate when the others weren't looking, suddenly stopped as everyone looked to him, and Fíli raised a brow at the hatted dwarf as the others roared with laughter, watching him replace the bacon sheepishly as he laughed along.

"Things don't seem to slip past your notice often, do they now, Miss Saf?" Bofur chortled, and Saf shrugged modestly, accepting the plate Bombur handed her with a nod of thanks.

"When you work as a barmaid, those sorts of things hardly do," she answered, settling herself on the ground next to Bilbo as most of the other dwarves joined them, though she noticed how the more suspicious ones – including Dwalin, the red-haired one named Glóin and his hard of hearing brother Óin, Dori, and, of course, Thorin Oakenshield – remained in their own small group some ways away from them.

"And how long have you been doing that?" Nori asked, shoveling a bite of eggs into his mouth as he raised a braided brow at her.

Saf tried not to tense, telling herself it was a harmless question and he was not intentionally prying into her life, though her voice still came out a bit forced as she answered, "Seven years. Ever since I came of age."

It wasn't technically a lie; indeed Saf had been a barmaid for seven years, yet she had come of age long before then, though the dwarves did not need to know her true age; that would just bring about many questions she had neither the desire nor the time to answer.

Nori nodded at her reply, though her tone seemed to indicate she was done with any more questions, and soon the Company was talking amongst themselves around her and Bilbo, who opted to sit there and just listen as the dwarves chatted and joked and ate their breakfast.

When the sun was beginning to clear the tree-line, Gandalf wandered back into their camp from Eru-knows-where and spoke to Thorin, who shortly after ordered them to clear out and move on.

"Miss Saf will be our guide through these woods for a few days until it is deemed safe for us to venture back on to the Road," he said grudgingly, shooting Saf a wary look as he spoke to the Company. "After that, we will continue with our quest in earnest."

The Company all nodded in consent, and soon the camp was dismantled and their belongings repacked as they made their way to the ponies, ready to depart from this area of the woods.

Saf untied Frigg from her post and mounted the saddle once more, waiting for the others to board their own horses as Gandalf approached her atop his own, still looking vaguely irritated with her, but keeping his tone benign as he said, "Do you know what path you intend to take?"

Saf nodded, combing her fingers through Frigg's mane absentmindedly as she said, "The Chetwood is small, so we should be out of it by either tonight or tomorrow morning, at the least. From there we will run into the Midgewater, which I will lead you around, before approaching the Great East Road in two or three days, depending on our speed. That is when I will take my leave."

"You mean to avoid Weathertop, then?" He asked, and Saf shot him a scornful look.

"At all costs, if I must," she said. "That place is nothing but a barren ruin, an ancient monument of days past. It holds no meaning to us anymore."

Saf then mentally cursed herself for the use of 'us;' she was a Ranger no longer, she reminded herself. She could not consider herself one of them anymore, not after turning away from that path long ago.

Gandalf had obviously noticed her slip-up, as well, though fortunately he said nothing of it, instead only nodding.

"Very well," he said. "I will inform Thorin of our route, and then you may lead on."

Saf nodded back, and the Wizard moved away just as she caught sight of Bilbo, standing before Myrtle and petting her nose hesitatingly as Saf ambled over on Frigg, watching the hobbit and his pony interact with approval.

"Well, if nothing else, it certainly seems that your pony has taken quite a liking to you," she noted with amusement, and Bilbo turned at her voice, giving her a brief smile.

"Myrtle's a sweet girl," he agreed. "Aren't you?" He scratched the pony under her chin, and Myrtle snorted in pleasure as Saf swung off Frigg and approached the bonding pair.

"It is good to have a connection with your horse," Saf told him. "You will be riding together for a long ways, and trust in each other is always beneficial, especially in times of peril."

Saf then gestured to the saddle, motioning for Bilbo to step up beside her as she began to give him an overview of how to properly get on a horse and sit in the saddle.

"This handle is called the pommel," she said, grasping the leather bit at the front and motioning for him to do the same. "Put your hand on this when you are mounting; it is a good handhold, and much better than grabbing onto poor Myrtle's neck or mane."

When Bilbo's hand had replaced hers on the pommel, she then quickly instructed him on how to correctly swing himself into the saddle, and the motions he needed to go through with the reins while riding.

After she was satisfied with his progress, Saf then wished him luck with riding and re-mounted Frigg, who had been waiting patiently for her the entire time she had been working with Bilbo.

No sooner had she gotten on her horse then Thorin trotted over aboard his shaggy black pony, his blue eyes clear and deep-set in the morning light as he gave her a small nod out of courtesy, which Saf returned just as tightly.

"When you are ready," he said, flicking a hand that signaled for her to lead, and Saf nodded once again before turning Frigg and starting out of the clearing without a word to the dwarf.

She heard him command the others to fall in line, and soon they were venturing further into the woods, Saf setting a brisk pace as they walked through the morning.

They stopped once at noon for lunch and a short rest before moving on again, and Saf took the lead once more, content with just riding and not speaking, too wrapped up in her memories of roaming the wild before settling in Archet to think of much else. It was strange being back out in the world after spending so long a time inside civilization, and she had quite forgotten just how…_liberating _it was, being in the fresh air and the clean-smelling woods again. She had missed it, she realized with a jolt, yet she wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to accept that revelation quite yet.

The dwarves kept a jovial atmosphere about them for most of the day, and Saf had to marvel at their good spirits after spending the previous night running away from bandits. The only ones who didn't seem to be participating in the festivities were her, Gandalf, Thorin, and Bilbo, the hobbit seeming to be too intent on riding to notice much else, while Gandalf and Thorin both appeared to be lost deep in thought from the times she had looked back to scope her surroundings and see if the Company was still keeping pace.

Dusk was beginning to settle when they rode to the edge of a steep ravine, with no way across except for an old stone bridge Saf recognized from her first wanderings of the Chetwood. She had no idea where the bridge had come from or who it belonged to, for no one had settled in these lands for miles, yet she imagined it had been used long ago, for it was ancient, cracked and decrepit and crawling with moss and vines.

She waited for the others to catch up, the Company spreading around her on their ponies, and she wasn't entirely surprised when Thorin rode up beside her, his lip curling in distaste at the sight of the bridge.

"You mean for us to cross this?" He asked skeptically, eyeing the pathetic white-washed stones and admittedly treacherous-looking pathway across the ravine.

"Unless you would like to see if your pony can grow wings, then yes," she replied dryly, smirking a bit when the dwarf's lip twitched.

Thorin grunted, still looking disapproving, and Saf grinned as she felt her sarcasm rise within her, wanting nothing more than to poke some fun at the scowling dwarf right then.

"What's the matter?" She mocked. "Afraid the nasty orc pack under the bridge is going to come and gobble you up if you try and cross?"

Thorin instantly stiffened at her words, and Saf felt the grin on her face fade a bit when he turned sharply and glared at her with blazing blue eyes, his mouth pressed into a hard, flat line that made his lips go white.

"Do not speak of such matters lightly, woman!" He snarled, and Saf blinked at his harsh tone, taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor. "You know nothing of the world if you think orcs are something to poke fun at."

And with that, he spurred his pony forward and began to cross the bridge, his back stiff and his shoulders tense as Saf watched him ride ahead, still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened.

Ignoring the eyes boring into her back from the rest of the Company, Saf swallowed and raised her chin, following after Thorin as the others filed in behind her.

They rode in silence until nightfall, Thorin taking the lead and riding some ways ahead of Saf and the others. The whole time Saf couldn't help but wonder what she had said to make him so angry; she had had her fair share of orc encounters, so his words of her knowing nothing of the world stung a bit, yet she had no idea what could have set him off.

Then again, she knew next to nothing of him to begin with; family of his could have died in an ambush, or something along those lines. That had to be it, she decided, though the conclusion did nothing to alleviate the slight sense of guilt she felt every time she looked at the back of his head. She would have to apologize, she knew, and though the notion did not appeal to her at all, she was not as senseless as to leave such a barbed remark out in the open like that.

When the inky night began to close in around them, Thorin ordered them to stop under a rocky outcrop and make camp, dismounting from his pony and stalking into the trees to retrieve firewood faster than Saf could say _Gandalf's knickers. _

She disembarked from her saddle much more slowly, rubbing Frigg's neck as she tied her up with the other ponies before hesitating on the edges of the dwarves' camp. There was no way she was going to go after an angry Thorin sulking in the dark woods, yet she didn't want to impose on the Company, either.

Deciding she'd be better off taking her own jaunt through the woods to let off some steam, she turned to slip away into the trees when Bofur's voice held her back, and she looked to see him waving at her from the spot on the ground he was sharing with Fíli, Kíli, Balin, Nori, and Bifur.

"Miss Saf!" He called, gesturing her over. "Why don't you come sit and rest for a moment, eh?"

"Thank you, Master Bofur, but I am quite all right," she said, taking a step closer to the trees. "I'm not much in the mood for sitting down right now."

"Nonsense," Bofur said around the newly-lit pipe in his mouth, waving off her protests with a flippant hand. "Take a seat and relax; we'll have a fire going in a few minutes, and you'll have a chance to be first in line for Bombur's excellent cooking."

He waggled his brows at this, and Saf stifled a sigh, knowing the hatted dwarf wasn't going to let her off so easily.

"A few minutes would not hurt," she agreed reluctantly, crossing over to their circle as Bofur beamed and shifted aside to make room for her.

She sat down warily between him and Balin, crossing her legs underneath her and wrapping her arms around her torso, grinning nervously when Bofur clapped a hand on her shoulder and praised, "That's the spirit!"

After watching him blow a smoke ring from his mouth and tossing her a wink when he caught her eye, Saf's attention was drawn by Nori, who sat across the circle from her and chewed on his pipe absentmindedly, lounging on his elbows with his legs crossed before him.

"You all right, Miss Saf?" The dwarf asked, and as Saf took in his shrewd grey eyes and sly features, she had a feeling that Nori was the type of person who didn't miss much as she raised a questioning brow at him. "You seem…uncomfortable."

"I consider myself merely as your guide for a few days," she answered honestly, holding his gaze steady as she spoke. "I did not expect to be welcomed by your Company as such."

"You helped us back in Archet," Nori said, shrugging. "And we are not so callous as to leave even a mere guide to fend for herself in the woods."

"Aye," Fíli said, acknowledging Saf for the first time since they had met the night before as he nodded to her. "Our acquaintance may be only for a few days, but we have plenty of food and good company to share in that time."

"Hear, hear, brother," Kíli drawled from his new position, which was lying on his back with a hand tucked under his head as he smoked, and Fíli kicked his foot at the comment, though he was grinning as Kíli retaliated with one of his heavy boots, which the blond brother avoided easily, chuckling and taking a drag on his pipe.

Saf had to smirk at their antics, their playfulness reminding her of the Pennybrooks' sons whenever they wrestled in the tavern sometimes, though her smile faded quickly upon wondering if the Pennybrooks' had made it through the attack all right. As distant as she kept herself, she had never bonded with them as family, but still; they had taken her in and given her work, and – though they were not aware of it – a new life for her to begin, as well. She owed them more than she could ever repay, and she hoped she could tell them that someday soon.

Drifting back out of the dwarves' conversation around her, Saf took this time to truly study the Company as they milled about the camp, finding this group quite intriguing despite her best interests telling her not to.

There was Gandalf, of course, the infuriating and meddlesome Wizard that sat underneath a shady tree, also smoking and still looking deeply immersed in whatever was obviously plaguing his mind; and some distance away stood Bilbo, trying to discreetly feed Myrtle an apple from his pack, and Saf pondered on the hobbit for a moment, trying to decipher his purpose of being here with these dwarves.

He was a gentle creature, she could tell, with a kind heart and genuine compassion (a rare thing to have in the world nowadays, she couldn't help thinking wryly), yet it was apparent he had never been on a journey quite like this before. And hired as a _burglar! _The notion still baffled her; what kind of hobbit could have gotten himself sucked into this mess to begin with? If time permitted, maybe she would ask him; for right now, the hobbit's motives were as much a mystery as the nighttime shadows around them.

Her gaze next wandered to the burly, tattooed form of Dwalin, who appeared to be standing watch as he leaned against the outcrop of rock that sheltered them from the mild summer wind. She had had next to no interaction with him, and frankly, she'd like to keep it that way; the dwarf looked downright intimidating to her with his rippling muscles, and particularly with the chunk missing from his right ear. The smaller, slighter dwarf named Ori sat some distance away from Dwalin, scribbling contently in a leather-bound journal with his elder brother Dori beside him, appearing to be knitting, though she didn't know if her eyes were playing tricks on her or not.

Near them sat Óin and Glóin, the two brothers deep in conversation (though Óin still looked a tad confused), yet Saf still caught the suspicious looks they were throwing her way and moved on quickly, not wanting to add to that distrust further by being caught staring at them, as well. Bombur sat by himself, separated from the majority of the Company as he took out rations and cooking ware and prepared for dinner, though Saf guessed he was enjoying his solitude as she heard the faint humming from the back of his throat as he prepped.

The group around her she studied last, realizing then that these were the dwarves who appeared to be most comfortable with her; Bofur, the good-spirited dwarf who always kept the others laughing; Bifur, the quiet and observant one, seemingly neutral about everything; Balin, the kindly old dwarf who reminded Saf slightly of a warm stuffed bear she would have liked to hug as a child; Nori, the sarcastic dwarf who seemed to deal in realism the most out of the group; and Fíli and Kíli, the young brothers with the innocent eyes yet with a streak of mischief and recklessness she could sense burning under the surface. She supposed this group was the least dour and mistrustful of the Company, which was why they were at least accepting of her presence, and for that she was glad, in some small way; it would make her life that much easier traveling on the Road with them in the next couple of days.

Yet that, of course, brought her back to the matter of Thorin Oakenshield, especially when said dwarf finally stomped out of the trees with a stack of firewood in his arms that Glóin readily offered to light when he set them down.

He accepted the red-haired dwarf's bid with a grateful nod before brushing off his hands and moving away from the center of the camp where the rest of them were congregated, casting a look at the group on the ground and meeting Saf's eyes briefly before flicking them away as if he hadn't noticed her, his face curiously blank as he made his way over to where Dwalin was standing watch.

Saf followed his movements for a moment, trying to categorize the dwarf as she had with the others, yet finding it impossible; he was the most isolated of the Company, silent and brooding, with a temper Saf had seen flare to life that day. He was like water, she mused; always slipping through her fingers, never quite in her reach.

"I wouldn't take to heart his words from earlier, lass," Balin said suddenly at her shoulder, and Saf was startled out of her intense concentration of the black-haired dwarf, turning to see Balin following her gaze to Thorin as he nodded.

"Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs," he elaborated, when Saf only gave him a wondering look. "He did not mean to speak so harshly; but orcs are a blight on our history, you must understand."

Saf nodded slowly, suddenly recalling stories she had overheard amongst her travels some years before.

"You have fought many battles with them," she said, noticing that their conversation was starting to gain attention from their group as heads swiveled towards them. "Orcs have a grudge against anything that is not themselves, yet their hatred for dwarves is unrivaled by most."

"Aye," Balin affirmed, nodding solemnly. "That is true. Our feud with the orcs has been long and full of dark deeds from both sides."

"And Thorin," she said, noting how the dwarves tensed and traded uncomfortable looks when she mentioned the king-in-exile. "I assume he was pulled into this feud at one point, else he would not have reacted the way he did at my words."

Balin nodded, his face taking on a haunted look Saf did not like to see on him at all, the dwarves around her looking uncharacteristically somber, as well.

"Some years ago now, King Thrór, Thorin's grandfather, tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria after Erebor fell," Balin began, and Saf settled in, ready to listen to his tale. "Orcs had taken over the halls by then, horrible, twisted beasts from Gundabad, led by the vilest of all their race: Azog the Defiler.

"Having claimed lordship over Moria, and driven by a vicious hatred for all dwarves, he swore to break the Line of Durin. He began by beheading the King." Here, Balin sucked in a sharp breath, and Saf only listened as he continued in a slightly softer voice.

"Thráin, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He waded into the battle, axe in hand, yet he was never seen again. Whether he was taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. Frerin, Thorin's brother, was also slain.

"Thorin had witnessed all of their deaths, and swore to avenge his fallen kin by killing Azog himself. He faced down the Pale Orc upon the highest slope of Azanulbizar, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield." He smiled slightly to himself, and Saf became aware of just how silent the camp had gotten when he paused, every dwarf enraptured with the story, though they must have heard it thousands of times.

"Azog learned that day that the Line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Thorin emerged victorious, after Azog slunk back into the hole from whence he came, mortally wounded, and the dwarves rallied, driving back the orcs. Yet there was no song, nor feast that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We had to burn them on pyres instead of laying them to rest in the halls of their fathers, buried in tombs of stone, as they should have been."

He blinked back tears, and something in Saf's chest flared at the thought of this kind old dwarf and Thorin Oakenshield having to fight and live through such horrors.

"If there was one thing I knew for certain then, it was that Thorin was the right King for us to follow," he said quietly, his mouth turning up in a small smile. "He has led us well since then, just as he will lead us well now, until we see Erebor reclaimed."

When it was clear Balin was not going to say more, Saf finally turned and looked to Thorin again, everyone else following her motions with gazes of respect and reverence.

Saf met the king-in-exile's eyes through the shadows and flickering flames from the fire, the deep midnight blue finding her own dark grey, and Saf bowed her head in a sign of respect, hoping she could convey to him the apology she had been keeping at bay all day.

It seemed he understood her message, thankfully, and jerked his chin once before looking away, turning back to Dwalin and speaking lowly to him.

Saf dropped her gaze to the crackling fire some feet away, letting the golden-red light stain her eyes as she stared into it without really seeing it, a memory of her own threatening to intrude on her mind after Balin's haunting story of Moria.

_"It was a bloodbath," the Ranger cloaked in all black said, and though he tried to sound remorseful, Saf did not believe him for a second, standing at her father's shoulder as he and her mother spoke to the other Ranger. "They stood no chance against such an ambush. I am sorry."_

_ Two more Rangers had brought forth the gurney, then, and Saf saw the blood soaked sheet, her stomach roiling as she clung on to her mother's sleeve, though she was far too old to be doing such a thing._

_ It was only when she heard her mother sobbing did she realize what this meant, what the body under the sheet was, _who _it was…_

_ "Iorhael!" Her mother was screaming. "Iorhael, my son! No!"_

_ Her father did nothing, said nothing; no words of comfort were offered, no prayers were spoken to ease the pain, though Saf should not have been shocked; Iorhael was not her father's son, and the older man had made that quite clear in the years Saf had been old enough to understand why. _

_ And in that moment, Saf finally found her father's indifference and her mother's grief too overwhelming. _

_ Without even looking back, she turned and fled into the woods._

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**Don't worry, readers; Saf's flashbacks will all lead somewhere later, and her part in this Company is hopefully coming sooner ;)**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback!**


	6. 6: The Star-Kindler

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Many thanks to my reviewers last time: debatable-cerealkiller, alexma, lindir's gaze, belladu57, kellyjb514, PrimeEmily135, Constance Hangover, and lovingthisbok. Thanks to all the new follows/favorites, as well! I can't believe this story has taken off the way it has!**

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Chapter Six: The Star-Kindler

The next morning dawned on an unusually subdued Company, though after Balin's story of Moria the night before, it wasn't hard for Saf to imagine why as she took in the troubled frowns and hushed conversations of the dwarves.

She had awoken early to the sound of loud snoring right in her ear, and when she sat up, she was shocked to find that she had fallen asleep near the remnants of last night's fire, a blanket that was not hers draped across her body and hemmed on either side by Bofur and Nori, the former having rolled practically on top of her and had been the source of the snoring.

Feeling oddly flushed and nervous, she had thrown the blanket on top of Nori and stood up, brushing off her clothes and trying to soothe down her dignity. She was no stranger to sleeping with or near men, but something about waking up next to a bunch of them she did not know particularly well made her uneasy, all the same.

She still didn't quite remember how or why she had fallen asleep within their camp; the last thing she recalled from the night before was sitting in quiet amity with Bifur while the other dwarves of their group had smoked some more on their pipes before retiring for the night. Then again, the past several days had marked a long period of little to no sleep for her, so it didn't surprise her all that much when her body had demanded to rest.

Looking around the campsite, she saw that all of the Company was still asleep with the exception of Fíli and Kíli, who she assumed had taken over the watch sometime around midnight as they sat huddled against the outcropping of rock, Fíli fiddling with a small, curved dagger and Kíli seemingly on the verge of sleep, his dark eyes dull and glazed and his mouth slack, a sight Saf found amusing as she had made her way over to them.

"Long night, eh?" She said, approaching the two dwarves and stifling a laugh as Kíli jerked at the sound of her voice, sitting up straighter and trying to look as alert as possible as Fíli rolled his eyes from beside him.

"Nothing to report, at least," Fíli replied, while Kíli nodded in agreement, yawning. "Except for my stiff joints and this cursed itch on my back I've been trying to get all night."

"Sounds rough," Saf remarked, smirking, as the blond dwarf rubbed his back on the rock in an attempt to scratch that itch. "Though surely a dwarf as young as you shouldn't be having problems such as an old man would?"

"I'm not _that _young," Fíli retorted, sniffing. "I'm eighty-two. Can't say the same thing about Kíli, now…"

"Seventy-seven isn't that far from eighty-two, you arse," Kíli grumbled, and Saf snorted at the offended look on his face.

Saf, who smirked inwardly at the thought of what their faces would look like if she told them her true age, only chuckled, saying, "Forgive me, Master Fíli. I did not mean to offend."

Fíli waved her off good-naturedly, saying, "Don't worry about it. And call me Fíli; there's no need for any 'Master.'"

Saf squashed down her sudden misgivings, not knowing why she felt so alarmed in that moment. Perhaps it was because Fíli telling her to call him by his name such as a friend would unnerved her, seeing as she was nothing more than a guide to them. It was almost too…familiar.

Ignoring her unsettling thoughts, however, she only smiled slightly and dipped her head to the blond dwarf as he continued their previous conversation, giving her a measured look as he said, "To be honest, our age is a picky matter because it was what almost hindered us from coming along on this quest. Dwarves come of age around sixty-five or so, so in a way, Kíli and I are barely out of adolescence."

"Something Uncle is not keen to forget," Kíli muttered, casting a begrudging look over Saf's shoulder, and she turned slightly to follow his gaze, her eyes widening when she saw that it was Thorin Oakenshield he was looking at, the black-haired dwarf sleeping some distance away and still scowling in his unconsciousness, she noticed with some amusement.

"The king-in-exile is your uncle, then?" She asked, appraising them in a new way and wondering why she hadn't noticed the resemblance before; Fíli's eyes were the same blue as Thorin's, though ringed with a light grey the older dwarf did not have, and Kíli had the same dark hair and scowl as he sat there, half-asleep and brooding. "So that makes you princes?"

"Aye," Fíli said, nodding, smirking when he caught the surprised look on her face. "We are Thorin's heirs, as our mother is his sister."

"Interesting," she stated coolly, storing that tidbit of information away for the time being as she and the brothers continued to converse quietly, waiting for the camp to awaken.

The sun was on the rise by the time the rest of the Company began to stir, and a grey mood hung in the air as they broke camp and repacked their ponies. Thorin in particular looked stormier than ever, Saf noticed, his face a hard mask of stone and scowl as he finished reloading his things on his black pony. His eyes flicked up when he moved to go help Balin with his things, and their gazes met, though neither one acknowledged the other. Despite their small admission last night at the close of Balin's story, Saf knew it changed nothing between the two, but she was still slightly miffed at such blatant avoidance as he moved on without another glance.

Several minutes later they had mounted their ponies, and Saf began to lead the way again through the trees, inhaling the scent of pine and morning dew as they trudged on, and their conversations were few and muted as the morning wore away.

By mid-afternoon, the trees began to thin, and then they were out of the Chetwood altogether. They entered an open expanse of short, springy grass, a cool summer breeze rushing to meet them under the glare of the early summer sun, but Saf knew this bliss would not last. Rainclouds were building to the east, and Saf sensed they would be upon them by the afternoon's end.

They were also approaching the Midgewater Marshes, a disgusting swampland infested with biting midges and sinking mud and water, yet it was their only route if they wished to remain secret; going around too far south would take them unnervingly close to the Great East Road, and too far north would take much longer than just cutting through the Marshes.

They were approaching the borders of the swamp when Saf heard a pony clop to her side, and she turned to see Thorin Oakenshield now riding at her shoulder, his face twisted into a scowl she started to think was permanent as his eyes raked the land ahead of them.

"I believe it is time we turn our course north," he said imperiously, and Saf raised both brows at him. "We are straying too close to the Midgewater Marshes."

"The Midgewater Marshes _is _our course, Master Oakenshield," she replied calmly, keeping her eyes ahead even as she felt his scowl now turn on her.

"I've heard stories of this swamp; it is treacherous for any who try to cross it without proper knowledge of how to pass through unharmed," he said, his voice tinged with incredulity, as if he doubted her sanity.

"Well, luckily for you, Master Oakenshield, you are traveling with someone who happens to have proper knowledge of how to cross the Marshes," she said, throwing the dwarf a smug smile as his scowl deepened.

"We are not crossing through the Marshes," he said stubbornly, and Saf had to refrain from rolling her eyes. "It is too dangerous."

"What is dangerous is straying from our course," Saf countered. "Southward lies the Great East Road, and no doubt those bandits will be patrolling it, just waiting for us to show ourselves again, and too far north would cut into our travel time. I know this swamp, Master Dwarf, so if you would be so kind as to let the guide actually _guide, _then we can continue on our way much faster and reach the Last Bridge by the week's end, where then I will take my leave of your Company and you can plot your course yourself."

Thorin's eyes flashed at her increasingly irritable tone, but he only grunted at what she had said, the logic behind her reasoning finally seeming to penetrate his rock-hard skull.

He rode at her shoulder for several minutes in silence, and Saf wondered why he hadn't dropped back behind her, until he opened his mouth and she sighed, knowing what was coming.

"You seem to know this area very well," he noted, feigning nonchalance, and Saf mentally groaned as he tried to discreetly pry. "Yet back in the tavern you said you had lived in Archet all your life."

"That doesn't necessarily mean I stayed within the town's borders every waking moment," she said irritably. "Is it so implausible not wanting to stay cooped up there and leaving every once in a while to seek some solitude?"

"For you, yes." He replied without hesitation, and Saf shot him a glare, wishing dearly to push him off his pony and end this conversation. "You know these lands more than a simple barmaid seeking isolation would, and I do not believe that I have met a tavern maiden who carries so many deadly weapons upon her person."

"Even a child knows better than to wander off into the Wild with nothing more than a stick for protection," she said, rolling her eyes. "And I don't know why you keep insisting on prying into my private life, Master Oakenshield; I am not as fascinating as you seem to find me."

"I do not find you _fascinating," _Thorin growled, just as there was a low rumble of thunder, but he spared the building clouds a cursory glance as he glared at her. "I find you far too mysterious to be traveling with this Company, and I know you are hiding something – and I'm going to find out what it is if you insist on journeying with us as far as the Last Bridge."

"Then good luck to you in that endeavor, Master Oakenshield," she sneered. "Yet with the way you are going about it so far, you'll not even draw a breath from my lungs."

And with that, Saf spurred Frigg ahead of his pony and grit her teeth, trying to relax her tense muscles. The Last Bridge could not come fast enough, she thought, if Thorin Oakenshield kept doing everything in his power to get under her skin. Why could he not just leave her be? She was not imposing herself on the Company in any way, and she was to be leaving them in a few days' time. Was he really so suspicious of everyone he came across?

_What a lonely existence, _she thought harshly, though there was an undercurrent of sympathy to it she found foreign. _Keeping everyone at arm's length such as him._

But could she blame him? She had been doing the same thing for such a long time, albeit in a subtler way, so could she truly condemn him for his misgivings?

Saf shook her head. Thorin Oakenshield was a dwarf of suspicion and mistrust, and was undoubtedly set in his ways; there was no changing that. But she could keep him at bay for several more days, and then they would never have to deal with one another again. That was all she could hope for at the moment.

By the time they reached the borders of the Marshes, the clouds had descended upon them, and rain soon began trickling down, landing with soft patters on Saf's shoulders and head, and she cast up her cloak's hood to avoid the precipitation.

"Here is where we enter the Midgewater," she called, turning her horse and meeting the Company's disgruntled stares as they, too, donned hoods and cloaks. "Keep an eye out for sinkholes, and follow the exact path I take through the bog. Are we understood?"

There were a few mutters and grumbles of consent, though she hoped their lack of response was more from the weather than from her directing them what to do. She nodded curtly and nudged Frigg forward, entering the Marshes with the Company following carefully behind.

Soon, the grass turned into a bog, with water and mud everywhere, and Saf could feel the resistance the wetlands were having on Frigg's legs as the horse squelched across the landscape. The rain was not making it any easier, especially since it had now turned into a deluge, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead and nearly impossible to ride faster than anything but a snail's pace, which annoyed Saf greatly, as she could only imagine what Thorin would say to her slow route.

Fortunately, the king-in-exile was not anywhere near her, riding behind Bilbo and Gandalf, who were in turn following her. Saf led them on without stopping, however, despite the bog sucking at Frigg's legs and the horrendous wave of midges that seemed determined to eat them alive.

They spent the majority of the afternoon stumbling through the swamp, and there was much cursing and complaining, particularly from the older dwarves, who were absolutely appalled at the weather and the bugs.

Just as Dori shouted up to Gandalf if there was anything the Wizard could do about the rain, and Saf had to refrain from screaming at the dwarf to shut it (as he had been the most avid complainer the last few hours), she felt a sudden presence close behind her, and turned to see Bilbo riding Myrtle a short distance from Frigg.

The hobbit looked quite downtrodden and miserable, and Saf realized that he did not have anything resembling a cloak or hood with him as his teeth chattered, his fingers seemingly glued to the reins from the chill.

"Master Baggins," Saf said, reaching into one of her packs as the hobbit looked up, blinking rapidly through the rain. "Here, take this."

She retrieved one of her extra cloaks from the pack, a dark forest green one with a large hood, and tossed it to the hobbit before he had a chance to protest.

He caught it in surprise, looking back to her, and Saf gestured for him to put it on, which he did. It looked almost comical on him, the sleeves falling over his hands and the hood drooping into his eyes, but Saf fought the urge to laugh, knowing it was better than nothing.

"Thank you, Miss Saf," he said, sounding a bit brighter, and Saf nodded to him before turning her eyes back to their path, trying to lead them through the bog without incident, which was proving to be easier said than done.

After another twenty minutes of trudging through the Marshes, Saf began to hear a grumbling voice from behind her, and she tilted her head, not usually one for eavesdropping, but curious as she discerned Bilbo's voice from the pouring rain.

"Confound it all…I could be sitting in my armchair right now, drinking a nice hot cup of tea by the hearth…"

"I take it you are fond of the comforts of home, Master Baggins," Saf said before she could stop herself, and she heard Bilbo's mouth snap closed at her remark.

"I – I'm sorry you had to hear that," he stammered, and Saf turned to see him red in the face and looking quite flustered. "I thought I was keeping quiet—"

"You were," Saf replied, grinning at the dumbfounded expression on his face. "I just have very sharp ears." Sizing him up with her eyes, after a few moments, she gestured for him to ride beside her. "Talk with me a moment, Master Baggins. This trek has made me dreadfully bored."

Bilbo obeyed and brought Myrtle neck-and-neck with Frigg, though Saf had to look down some on Bilbo and his pony, as they were much smaller than herself and Frigg.

"Would you mind telling me about your home, Master Baggins?" she asked, and at the question, Bilbo immediately straightened in his saddle and perked up, his eyes twinkling with a soft light in the brown depths.

"Not at all!" He replied enthusiastically, and Saf's lips quirked up at his newfound energy. "What would you like to know?"

Saf shrugged, keeping her eyes forward as she said, "What region of the Shire do you hail from?"

"Why, that would be West Farthing," he said. "I live in the village of Hobbiton, at the top of The Hill, in a house called Bag End. My father built the smial for my mother before I was born…"

For the next hour or so, he recounted the history of his home and family, and from there, went on to describe how dearly the Shire meant to him, and all the fond memories he had there as the rain continued to pour and they plodded on through the bog.

Saf found herself quite enjoying the hobbit's conversation, even if she rarely said anything, only nodding and agreeing occasionally, though she didn't mind. Bilbo had a knack for remembering details, she soon realized, and she imagined him as a very fine storyteller one day before he shifted topics.

"But enough about me," he said, waving an airy hand. "What of you, Miss Saf? Have you lived in Archet your whole life?"

Saf hesitated, suddenly becoming aware of a pair of eyes boring into her back, and she knew she had gained another audience member in the form of Thorin Oakenshield as she told Bilbo the answer she told every stranger.

"Yes, I have," she said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. "I was born into a baker's family, the youngest of three daughters before I became a barmaid at _The Wooden Lady."_

"Ah," Bilbo said interestedly. "And what of your family? Are they still bakers?"

Saf instinctively stiffened, her mind flashing back to a blood soaked sheet and a bitterly cold day, running through snow-laden trees as a scream built in her chest, before she blinked, hard, and responded with a flat finality that left no room for questions. "They are dead."

"Oh, my," Bilbo said, and Saf winced at the sympathy in his tone. "Miss Saf, I am sorry for asking—"

He never got a chance to finish his apology, however, for just then there were several alarmed cries and the frantic whinnying of a pony from behind them, and they whirled to see Kíli's pony stuck belly-deep in a sinkhole, the dark-haired dwarf himself standing on a stable patch of land and trying to pull his pony free.

"Idiot," Saf muttered under her breath, swinging off of Frigg and sprinting over to the younger prince, a few paces behind Thorin as he did the same, Fíli and Nori rushing to help, as well.

"I told you to follow my path exactly!" Saf said as she ran forward, bypassing Thorin due to her longer legs and grabbing the reins behind Kíli, gritting her teeth at the dwarf's disobedience. "What happened?"

"It was just a misstep," Kíli grumbled, and Saf shook her head as Fíli, Nori, and Thorin grasped the reins as well and helped to free the pony from the muck.

After a few seconds of struggling and slipping in the wet mud, Kíli's pony wrenched herself free of the sinkhole and stumbled back on to land, the dwarves sighing with relief and panting some as Kíli retracted the reins.

"Kíli," Saf said, and the young dwarf looked to her warily, afraid she would snap again, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. "Just be careful, please."

He nodded, brows furrowed, but a faint grin dusted his face as he clambered back on his pony, Fíli and Nori retreating to their own.

Sighing and pushing a wet strand of hair from her eyes, Saf turned back to her own horse but found her way blocked by Thorin, and she had to clamp her lips shut around the ugly remark she had been about to make to the dwarf as he glowered at her, his eyes seeming to glow in the dim light.

"What kind of route have you insisted on us taking?" he snapped. "I warned you that the Midgewater was treacherous, and you did not heed my words, instead opting for something like _this _to happen."

He waved his hand toward Kíli and his pony, and Saf could feel the staring eyes of the Company upon them as she retorted, "A small price to pay in our overall course. If we had gone north, as you suggested, then we wouldn't even be halfway across the breadth of space the Marshes takes up. We have but a few more miles, and you can thank me when we reach the other side."

"It is not your place to dictate what we do—" he snarled as Saf pushed past him, but at his words she spun on her heel, clenching her fists at the dwarf's stubborn persistence.

"I am the guide, am I not?" she hissed, taking a step forward. "I am sorry if my counsel troubles you so, Master _Oakenshield, _but as I have said before, you must suffer me but a few more days before I am gone. Or can such a consternate child as you seem to be acting not handle getting his way until then?"

"Hold your tongue, _woman," _he growled, stalking forward, but before they could say anything else, Gandalf's exasperated voice broke through their argument.

"Both of you, enough with this nonsense!" The Wizard snapped, and they both looked to see Gandalf astride his horse, glaring down at them underneath the brim of his pointy hat as it dripped rainwater. "Get back on your horses and continue this petty argument somewhere other than these horrendous swamplands! Miss Saf is right; we have only a few more miles to travel, and I would rather not be here when the night falls, especially if you two insist on acting like children."

With a last glare at the Wizard, Saf faced Thorin again and found his eyes already locked on her face, anger blazing within the deep blue depths as a muscle worked in his jaw.

When Saf refused to drop her gaze, Thorin grunted and brushed past her, his long wet hair smacking her in the face as she scowled, following behind him as they mounted their horses.

Saf started forward again without another word, and the Company rode on through the Marshes, the rain continuing to patter down in quiet sheets.

* * *

Thorin shrugged off his coat and slung it on the tree branch to dry with much more force than was necessary, his anger still simmering under the surface and making him more on-edge than ever as he turned back to the camp they had made for the night beneath a small copse of straggly trees on the edge of the Midgewater.

They had left the Marshes behind, but that still didn't improve Thorin's dark mood by much. Though he was loath to admit that the barmaid's path had removed a large portion from their travel time, he was more frustrated at the fact that she had dismissed his counsel as nothing and instead led them through the swamp despite his aversion.

As it did every time he thought of the woman, Thorin's head gave a sharp throb of protest, and he rubbed his temples as he stood in the shadows of the trees hedging the camp. She had proved nothing more than a nuisance to him and his Company from the first moment they had met in the blacksmith's forge, and, quite frankly, he would not be sorry to see her go by the time they reached the Last Bridge.

Pushing all thoughts of the barmaid from his head, Thorin entered the camp and settled into a spot near the fire Glóin had started a few minutes earlier, Dwalin and Balin soon joining him after they had put their own things out to dry.

"I've always hated traveling in the rain," Balin grunted as they sat down, and Thorin raised a brow at his old friend as the white-haired dwarf grimaced. "Makes my joints ache something terrible."

"That's what happens to old coots like you, brother," Dwalin joked, ignoring the glare Balin shot him. "They start falling apart after hitting their prime."

"You'll be there soon enough, then," Balin returned with a mischievous glint in his eye, and Dwalin laughed at that, waving him off as Thorin grinned, used to the brothers' banter at this point and finding it quite amusing.

"Say, where are the lads?" Dwalin asked, looking around the camp, and Thorin copied him, surprised to see that Fíli and Kíli were nowhere to be seen amongst the Company.

"They went off hunting," Balin said knowingly, extracting his pipe from underneath his coat. "Seems they must have taken the lass with them, too."

Thorin, who had just lit his own pipe, choked on the smoke as he swept his gaze over the camp once more, seeing that the woman was not there, either, as Balin and Dwalin turned to look at him in concern.

"They have no business with her," he finally managed to say, after clearing his throat multiple times, and he could feel the anger and annoyance flaring to life under his skin once more.

Balin shrugged, exchanging a glance with his brother, who had gone to smoking and staring into the fire in silence.

"She carries a bow," the older dwarf said knowledgeably. "Perhaps she knows how to use it."

"Doubtful," Thorin muttered, glaring into the dark trees as if he could penetrate the shadows and see his nephews and the woman frolicking through the woods.

It was silent for a moment as Thorin stewed in his thoughts, but when he became aware of a gaze boring into the side of his face, he looked over to see Balin staring at him shrewdly.

"What?" He said resignedly, already knowing what was coming, if the diplomatic expression on his cousin's face was anything to go by.

"Why does the lass cause you such unease?" He asked, and Thorin huffed out an irritated breath.

"Does she not strike you as…untrustworthy?" He said, searching his friend's face as he stared into the fire thoughtfully, chewing on the end of his pipe. "She claims to know Gandalf well enough that there was a payment of debt between them, yet swears she is but a small town girl despite knowing her way extensively through these lands. And not to mention that her weapons are not something you would find in an ordinary forge of Men; no, this woman is far too unsettling for my taste, and good riddance when she's away from this Company."

"So you believe her to be a spy of some sort?" Balin asked, and Thorin frowned.

"Anything is possible," was his only reply, just as there was a rustling of undergrowth from ahead of them, and they looked up to see Fíli and Kíli entering the camp, a reasonably-sized doe slung over Kíli's shoulder with an arrow pierced through its heart – a clean shot, and Thorin felt a glow of pride rush through him at the sight, until he heard the brothers' conversation with Bofur upon their arrival.

"Now there's a good meal waitin'," the hatted dwarf whistled, as Bombur waddled over and examined the doe appraisingly after Kíli gently set it upon the ground. "Nice shot, lad."

"Too bad it wasn't him who shot it," Fíli snickered, and though Kíli shot his brother an obscene gesture, he nodded in agreement.

"Aye," he said, gesturing to the arrow as he carefully extracted it, and Thorin was surprised to see that the projectile looked quite different from one of Kíli's iron and birch arrows; this arrow was made of ash and steel, it seemed, and its shaft was longer and slimmer than anything of Dwarven craft.

This observation made Thorin's teeth gnash together with a loud click, and he knew what Kíli was going to say even before the words came out of his nephew's mouth.

"Miss Saf was the one to shoot it," he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the trees behind them, where the woman had not yet emerged from. "She's quite handy with a bow, mind. Better than Fíli by a long shot.

Kíli ducked as his brother swung a hand at his head, laughing while the others looked on in amusement and some exasperation, save Thorin, who had gone back to staring into the trees as his thoughts turned toward the woman they traveled with once again.

A former baker's daughter turned barmaid, who in addition to her apparent traveling skills is useful with a bow and arrow, managing to kill a doe in a single clean shot in the dark. It was a feat even Kíli had trouble with at times, and now this supposedly domestic woman was the one to achieve it?

Thorin bit back a growl, his frustration eating him alive that the woman remained so elusive when everything about her was abnormal and wrapped in secrets. He did not know how she could have attained the apparent skills she had while living the lifestyle she had in Archet, which only led him back to the conclusion he had drawn the first night he had seen her in the tavern, when she had performed the song of his home on her viola: she had seen the world before, perhaps many times and for many years, though he did not understand why she would choose to hide that away such as she was doing.

Having sat there and brooded for a while now, Thorin pulled himself out of his thoughts and watched as the Company joked around and generally insulted each other in good humor as they went about dressing the doe, the only dwarf left beside him being Balin, who looked on with a crooked smile as Bilbo and Gandalf stayed well back from the rambunctious dwarves, seemingly in the midst of their own conversation as Thorin watched.

A sudden shadow from beyond the fire caught Thorin's attention, and he instinctively stiffened and grasped the hilt of his sword until he recognized the woman slinking out of the trees, bow in hand and footsteps light and quick as she entered the camp, almost immediately getting pounced on by the dwarves when they took notice of her and dragged her into their group with praises for her kill.

Thorin made to get to his feet, intent on pulling the woman aside and intimidating her to talk if that was what it would take, before a hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked at Balin, who was frowning from beside him.

"Leave it be for the moment, laddie," his friend said kindly, but firmly. "There's no need to cause another scene."

"There wouldn't have been one in the first place if she could just be honest and not defy me every time the chance arises," he grumbled, and then winced when he realized how petty he must have sounded.

"Just a few more days," Balin reminded, scratching absent-mindedly at his long beard as Thorin glowered at the woman for a moment more. "After that, I reckon things will be back to normal."

Thorin had no reply to this, instead only wondering if the poisoned dagger that woman undoubtedly had hidden up her sleeve would make itself known before then.

* * *

The next morning they were back to riding bright and early, leaving the last of the Marshes behind as they continued across grassy plains that swayed in the wind and glowed golden in the morning light.

The wind had become stronger since yesterday, a modest breeze that tumbled across the grasslands as they rode on through the morning, faint bumps beginning to rise in the distance and shimmering grey against the pale blue of the horizon. They were approaching the Weather Hills, Saf was relieved to see, which meant that they had but a three day journey before they reached the Last Bridge, if the weather and their pace permitted it.

Seeing the Weather Hills made a distant ache form in Saf's chest, and a sense of melancholy washed over her the closer they rode. It had been a long time since she had strayed anywhere near these hills, though she took some solace in the fact that their route would only lead them around the hills and not actually through them. She would hate to see what her reaction would be then – the hills were just far too close to her old home for comfort.

The day passed without incident, which Saf found surprising, considering every time she seemed to look at Thorin Oakenshield he was already glaring right at her, his expression clearly reading _I don't trust you, at all, so turn back around before I throw a rock at your face. _

Such a pleasant fellow.

By dusk, they had reached the base of the hills, and Saf's heart leapt into her throat when they rode around and suddenly the ruins of an old watchtower came into view, the dilapidated structure standing haunted and forlorn on the highest hill in the valley.

"Ah," Gandalf exclaimed from a few places behind her, and Saf could hear the fascinated murmurs from the Company as they took in the ruins. "The old fortress of Amon Sûl, or Weathertop, in the Common Tongue. Ancient history took place here, my friends, so if you wish to look upon it, do so now before we move on."

"What happened here?" Bilbo asked curiously, gazing up to the fortress in wonder despite its crumbling façade.

"The Wars of Angmar happened," Saf said, mentally kicking herself as soon as the words were out, though she resigned herself to speak as she knew she had gotten the hobbit's attention. "Earlier in this Age, the Witch-king of Angmar led a host into these lands to wipe out the remaining strongholds of Men that were still in this region. They seized Amon Sûl and stole the _palantír _that was kept there, leaving it as nothing more than a barren ruin forevermore."

"Why would they want to do that?" Bilbo wondered, and Saf shifted uncomfortably in her saddle when she realized the Company was listening in now.

"Why does anyone do anything?" she countered. "You will learn soon enough, Master Baggins, that sometimes events happen and paths are forged simply because people want it to be so. Motives are not always black and white, nor good and evil; they are merely constructions in justifying reasons that can go far beyond what we consider them to be at first glance."

There was a bout of silence after her little speech, before it was broken by Bofur, who only affirmed, "Well said, lass."

There were a few grudging grumbles of agreement, and Saf couldn't help but grin a little to herself as they continued to circle the base of the watchtower, though keeping several miles between them and the hill, which Saf intentionally did just to avoid the place as much as possible without adding to their travel time.

When night fell, they made camp in the shadow of the watchtower, on the outskirts of a stunted wood Thorin had deemed suitable enough, and after tending to her pony and helping Ori and Nori collect firewood, she had retreated to the edge of their camp and set behind a boulder that blocked her from the Company's view, facing Weathertop and balancing her bow across her knees as she leaned against the rock.

In the low-hanging, wispy clouds and inky blackness of the night, the fortress looked more like a haunted ruin than ever, and a pang went through her chest after realizing how long she had been away from her old home, the lands on which she was born and reared. Granted, her settlement had been much farther north, near Fornost and the North Downs, yet she still recalled a time when Weathertop had marked the boundaries of her small world, a time when she had no idea what the real world harbored outside of her people's borders.

A dull clunking sounded from behind her, and Saf only sighed, saying, "You know, Gandalf, there are other ways to engage women in conversation instead of just cornering them alone in the dark."

"Very amusing," the Wizard huffed, coming to a stop beside her and settling down atop the boulder, talking down to her head as she sat upon the ground. "I almost forgot you had a sense of humor deep down."

A faint grin curled her lips, and she shrugged, replying with, "I try."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Gandalf lighting his pipe in the meantime, before speaking once more, his topic of choice not really surprising Saf considering where they were.

"What of Amon Sûl bothers you so?" he asked, obviously picking up on her melancholic mood as she stared at the old watchtower. "Surely it is sacred, after its fall to Angmar, yet I sense you hold a sorrow much deeper for this place."

Saf hesitated, wondering if she should tell him why the place troubled her. Granted, she was still very miffed at him for uprooting her life in Archet by whirling into town with this lot, but at the same time, she couldn't help remembering him as the dear friend she had met seven years ago, a friend she had trusted, and, if she were being honest, a friend who deserved to gain some of that trust back now.

"Weathertop is the place where I gave up on trying to find my mother," she told him quietly, keeping her eyes trained forward as she spoke. "I had searched for so long, yet there was never anything more from her but rumor. I marked a grave for her at its base – " she gestured with her head toward the hill – "and I prayed that she had finally found peace."

She looked down to her lap after speaking, feeling a surge of emotions she hadn't experienced in years coming on – anger, grief, and worst of all, betrayal.

"Your mother loved you, Safavael," Gandalf told her gently, as if reading her mind. "Nadagréil did only what she thought was right at the time."

"She was selfish," Saf said bitterly, her fingers clutching tightly to her bow.

"She was named for the Queen of the Valar, Varda, was she not?" Gandalf said. "Nadagréil Gimilnitîr, the Star-Kindler. That title was not bestowed lightly to her. She was humble, and compassionate, and loved as freely as one could in such dark times – traits she has passed on to you, Safavael."

Saf tightened her grip even further, feeling a well of emotion she couldn't describe rising in her chest as Gandalf put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Do not hold her memory in contempt over outcomes you were powerless to change," he said softly, but Saf shrugged off his touch.

"I have had enough conversation for one night," she said stiffly, rising to her feet and refusing to meet the Wizard's eyes. "I think I shall retire."

She walked back into the camp, finding the Company all asleep on their bedrolls save for Thorin, who had taken first watch near the guttering flames of the leftover fire. She could feel his eyes following her as she made her way to her own sleeping area, settling down with her back to him and throwing a blanket over her shoulders as she twisted the silver ring on her finger, Gandalf's voice echoing in her ears.

Nadagréil Gimilnitîr, the Star-Kindler. The Ranger of the North who traveled so far and wide she had been revered in their village. The woman who had led her people into battle crowned with radiance, as her first name had foretold. The mother who had abandoned her and left her with a father who had soon lost his sanity to grief.

Memories threatened to suffocate her once again, but Saf closed her eyes against the terrors sowed by her mother and father, retreating behind a black curtain of sleep before she could be rendered as a child once more, her mind whispering with the prelude to her nightmares.

_"All Men must die, but not all need bow before Death when He calls."_

* * *

**And if anyone recalls chapter 3, there was a very lovely connection in this last part here to the flashback at the beginning of that chapter... And Thorin POV, anyone? Yay? Nay? And just what will happen when they reach the Last Bridge? So many questions...**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback! **


	7. 7: At the Last Bridge

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Welcome new readers, and thanks for all the new favorites/follows! I can't believe this story already has over 100 followers, and we're only on chapter 7. Wow. **

**Thank you to all those who reviewed last time as well: heroherondaletotherescue, ChizomenoHime, Vanafindiel, lindir's gaze, lunerusso, PrimeEmily135, Daeris1225, lovingthisbook, and Jo (Guest).**

* * *

Chapter Seven: At the Last Bridge

**TA 2934**

Saf patted the dirt back into place with a heavy sense of finality about her, sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cool autumn night.

A yellow sickle moon hung low in the sky as she sat back on her heels, not even bothering to pick the earth out from underneath her fingernails as the hilltop rasped with a chilly wind, the towering ruins of Weathertop looming above her like a castle in the clouds, it seemed, what with all the fog scuttling at its base.

Saf brought her gaze back down to the freshly dug "grave" before her, a plot of upheaved dirt with a small white stone poking out of the ground. It was a pathetic excuse for a grave, and something she normally would have been shamed by, but it was all she could afford to make. She had things to do, a life to shed and begin anew, and this was the last ghost of her past she had to bury.

She bowed her head, placing a hand over her heart as she began the prayer she had heard so many times in her settlement before, until her father, the chieftain, had banned all mentions of the Valar from their customs, believing the deities to be cruel and rejecting of all Men, especially those of Númenórean descent.

Pushing down on the anger that threatened to surface every time she thought of her father, she instead took a deep breath and began her prayer.

"Mandos, Lord of the Dead, lead my mother to your Halls of Waiting and honor her with the respect and recognition she deserves. Allow her to leave with the Great One, Eru Ilúvatar, as she accepts the Gift of Mortality and finds peace in whatever awaits our people in the afterlife. Bless this woman, this mother, this Ranger, and lay her to rest with the stars. _Arad lomîn, Ammê."_

The words carried a bitter taste as she said them, and she kept her head down, trying to stem the hot tears she could feel building in her eyes. It was difficult to tell whether she wanted to cry from the anger she still carried over her mother's abandonment, or because she had spent the last sixty years chasing after a ghost that would never have come back anyway. All the same, it still hurt like a hot poker was being stabbed into her heart.

Swiping away the few tears that had escaped her eyes, she stood up and brushed off her pants, casting the grave one last look before walking back to the scant woods behind her where she would make camp.

After laying out her bedroll and starting a small fire, she patted her horse's nose soothingly before taking her bow and wandering into the trees, looking for the traps she had set out earlier in the day in the hopes of catching some food.

The first one she came across held only a squirrel, but she took it nonetheless, not able to afford being picky with winter drawing so near. She found the second one empty, and the sight of the bare trap made her huff out an irritated breath, miffed at not finding anything else to eat. She was an exceptional trapper, in her opinion, and her traps rarely ever remained empty, even this far out in the Wild.

On closer inspection, however, she bent down and picked up the tiny rope that would have been triggered should an animal have crossed its path, and found that the trap had already been sprung. But it was nearly impossible for an animal to free itself from this trap. Unless…

Saf grinned wryly as she became aware of the presence behind her in the trees, and with one easy movement, she had turned and notched an arrow to her bowstring, pointing the weapon at the spot where she could detect a shadow darker than the rest in the surrounding woods.

"Don't bother hiding, and I would highly recommend lowering your own weapon before this arrow here goes through your heart or your throat; really, I'm not picky," she said in a cold, flat voice, drawing the string back further when the presence did not immediately act.

Finally, there was a rustling of undergrowth, and a figure stepped out of the trees, though Saf started when she realized that it was nothing more than a small human girl, appearing to be several years younger than herself, yet Saf knew looks could be deceiving.

She was small and skinny, her skin waxy in the moonlight, with sunken dark eyes and straggly black hair. She was dressed in ragged and frayed clothes and held a tiny dagger, the blade only about as big as a butter knife.

The girl took another shaky step forward, and Saf watched the girl slowly place the dagger on the ground, her fingers trembling from what the woman recognized to be fear, and she felt a stab of pity for the girl, lowering her bow slightly.

"What is your name?" Saf asked after the girl had straightened and raised her hands in surrender, and she flinched at the sound of her voice.

"M-Melisande Peri'el," the girl whispered, and Saf blinked in shock, completely dropping her bow to her side.

"You are Dúnedain?" she asked, and the girl furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Are you a Ranger?" Saf elaborated, and the girl shook her head slowly, looking lost.

Saf frowned, wondering if the girl – Melisande, she reminded herself – was somehow lying. Her name was Adûnaic, this Saf was sure of – it translated directly to 'swift shadow.' But the more she studied the girl, the more Saf began to think that maybe she was telling the truth. She was young, and it was obvious that she was scared out of her wits – but what was she doing wandering the Wild?

"Melisande," Saf said slowly, and the girl shrunk back at the use of her name. "Can you tell me what happened to you?"

"Orcs," she said softly, and Saf instinctively tensed at the word. "Th-they attacked my village, up near the Ettenmoors, and…"

She sniffed and dropped her head, speaking to her feet as she continued in a mumble.

"My family was slaughtered, along with the majority of the villagers. M-my father gave me that dagger and told me to run right before – he was killed."

She sunk to her knees as she began to cry, heaving sobs that sent a chill down Saf's spine, though she still looked to the girl warily.

"You traveled all this way on your own from the Ettenmoors?" she asked skeptically, and the girl raised her head, her nose and eyes streaming.

"I stole a horse from the village," she explained breathlessly. "But I traded it for supplies, and when the supplies were gone, I started to steal…"

She gestured faintly to Saf's trap, and the woman remained silent, not quite sure what to do.

She could offer the girl a place in her camp for the night, but she didn't want to risk the possibility of being murdered for her horse and supplies before the morning light. But at the same time she knew she couldn't turn her away; she was starving and had been wandering the Wild for weeks. She needed someone, Saf realized with an awkward twinge in her chest.

"Come with me," Saf said to the girl, whose eyes widened at her invitation. "I have a fire at my camp and we can eat, and then you can stay with me tonight."

The girl nodded numbly and picked up her knife, ready to follow her, and Saf cast one last look in the direction of her mother's grave, wondering if this was some grand twisted scheme from the afterlife before she shook her head, and led the way to the camp.

* * *

**Present Day – TA 2941**

Saf emerged from a fitful night's rest to find a hand nudging her shoulder lightly – or, lightly to the dwarf, she assumed, since it still felt like she was being rattled around by an earthquake.

She rolled over and opened her eyes to see Bofur standing above her, wearing his dimpled grin and floppy hat as ever. When he saw she was awake, he straightened and said, "C'mon, lass, time for another lovely day!"

Saf made a face at this that caused the dwarf to chortle, but she nodded and thanked him all the same, hauling herself to her feet as he walked away to join the breakfast line.

Stifling a yawn, Saf got to work on packing up her bedroll and blanket, working to awaken herself fully as she did so.

Her sleep had been troubled, though not by any nightmares, thankfully. Her dreams had been jumbled and disoriented, indiscernible to her, yet they had still woken her up many a time during the night and still clung to her uneasily now in the morn.

Doing her best to shrug it off, though, she swung her pack on her shoulders and made for the area they had reserved for their ponies, easily spotting Frigg amongst them and making her way over to the dark horse.

After saddling the pack on to Frigg, Saf went to the front of the mare and gently pet her nose, earning an affectionate snort as Saf rested her forehead against Frigg's, breathing in the scent of horse hair and pine trees as her senses slowly came back to her, her energy revitalizing.

"Miss," a low voice rumbled from behind her suddenly, and Saf lifted her head, turning to see Thorin Oakenshield standing behind her, though he kept a few feet of distance between them, she noticed wryly.

She met his eyes, the irises shifting through a thousand hues of blue in the dappled sunlight streaming through the trees, and she raised a brow as those eyes studied her, his face as impassive as ever.

"You look exhausted," he noted, and Saf refrained from rolling her eyes.

"That's because I _am, _Master Oakenshield," she replied snippily, and she watched his frown deepen at her tone. "Now, what can I help you with on this fine morning?"

"If our pace stays swift and steady today, then we shall reach the Last Bridge by dusk, correct?" He asked, wisely not rising to her bait, and Saf nodded in affirmation. "And from there you will take your leave?"

"That was established, yes," she said, nodding again, and besides a small twitch in his jaw, his expression remained stony as he spoke once more.

"Then I will say this once, and be sure to heed it," he said, his eyes boring into her with almost icy intensity. "You may have been our guide for a few days at the most, and for your advice and your help in Archet, I thank you."

Saf blinked in surprise at the king-in-exile's grudging thanks; obviously the dwarf must have eaten a particularly good meal this morning for him to speak multiple sentences to her without growling or snapping.

"But," he continued, his tone containing a hint of warning now, "our alliance ends with our arrival at the Last Bridge. I know not what the Wizard was thinking in trying to persuade you to join my Company, but this is our quest, our homeland, and I will not have a woman I know nothing of hinder this journey for us. My people cannot afford it."

This last part sounded as if he were speaking more to himself than to her, and Saf appraised the dwarf evenly, sobering up a bit and starting to realize how important this quest was to him.

He was an exiled king, forced to wander the wildlands and carve a new life for his people out of the grandeur they once knew, and Saf could see it in his eyes – he would do anything to see his task done; for his sake, of course, but most of all, for his people.

Saf dipped her head in respect, meeting the dwarf's eyes levelly.

"It was never my intention to follow you or hinder you in any way, Master Oakenshield," she said. "But you needed my help, and I gave it, even if it was because of the whims of a meddlesome Wizard. I understand the importance of your task, and I wish you all the luck in the world for you to see it done."

Thorin said nothing, but he nodded once to her in gratitude before turning away, though she liked to imagine his features were a little lighter as he made his way back to the camp.

In an hour they were back to riding, leaving Weathertop and the Weather Hills behind as they continued on through the small valley that would take them to the Last Bridge.

Saf did not look back once, nor did she dwell anymore on thoughts of her mother. Instead she led the Company on through the sunny day, the wind tugging playfully at their hair and clothes, and Saf leaned her head back, letting her face bask in the warm summer weather.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?"

Saf tilted her head down and looked to see Fíli riding beside her at the front of the column, and she raised her brows as she saw Kíli on her other side, as well.

"Well, I was," she said teasingly to the dwarf brothers. "Until my peace was shattered by the arrival of you two."

Kíli pressed a hand over his heart, throwing his head back dramatically as he said, "Oh, how you wound us, dear lady! How shall I ever move on from such a cruel remark?"

Saf snickered as Fíli rolled his eyes, the elder prince saying, "Theatrics were never your thing, Kíli, so I suggest you stop before you give everyone here a headache."

Kíli threw back his head once more, obviously about to launch into another agonized monologue, before Fíli took an apple from one of his packs and threw it at his brother, who caught it deftly and shot them a cheeky grin before taking a bite.

"Ugh," Fíli said, wrinkling his nose as he watched his brother. "I don't know how he stands those things."

"What, apples?" Saf said, also staring at Kíli and grimacing when he took a particularly large bite that sent rivulets of juice running down his stubbly chin. "They're delicious, and also very good for you, you know."

"What do we look like, elves?" Fíli asked, throwing her a slight grin. "Nay, we dwarves prefer meat and ale above all else – that's what keeps us in shape, you see."

He tossed her a wink, and Saf grinned, both turning to watch Kíli chuck his apple core far out in the grass from beside them.

"Pathetic," Fíli said, clucking his tongue in disapproval. "I could've gotten that at least another five yards from where yours landed."

"Then let's see it," Kíli retorted, grabbing an apple from his own pack and about to take a bite before Saf snatched it from his hand, bouncing it in her palm as she shot Fíli a wicked grin.

"First, though, _you _have to eat it," she said mischievously, and Kíli laughed as his brother looked to her in horror.

"This is inhumane," he protested, as Saf held out the apple to him. "Isn't there a decree somewhere about the use of cruel and unusual punishment?"

"Probably," Saf said, shrugging. "But as a prince, you must set an example for us."

She held out the apple further as Kíli continued to giggle like mad, and finally, with a glare that could rival Thorin's, he took the apple and bit into it, his face contorting as she and Kíli roared with laughter.

The rest of the day seemed to rush past, and soon, it was almost dusk, something Saf realized she was quite dreading as she watched the sun dip lower in the sky.

The Last Bridge wasn't far away now, just over another rise of the valley, and the closer they got, the more Saf wanted to slow their pace, though she knew Thorin would notice and question her about it, so they kept on as they had that entire day.

It took her a while to pinpoint why exactly she wasn't looking forward to reaching the bridge, but finally it came to her that it was because she didn't want to leave the Company. Though knowing she wasn't going to be there to protect them from the Watchers should they encounter them was one of her major concerns, the truth was that she didn't want to lose their companionship. Some she had not spoken to at all, of course, but the ones she had – Bofur, Nori, the princes, and Bilbo – were the ones she realized she would…miss.

It was a foreign feeling, this sense of impending loss, and she did not enjoy it at all. It had been years since she had encountered such lively people; and though the Pennybrooks' and Adler had been exceptionally kind to her, she knew it was not the same as the Company's attitude, for the folk of Archet were also incredibly reserved, as was she. But now…she did not know what to think.

The sun was just beginning to sink towards the horizon when at last they came upon the bridge, Saf cautiously leading them on to the Great East Road, keeping her senses alert for any sign of the Watchers or other dangers they could encounter.

She paused Frigg in the middle of the road, hanging back as the rest of the Company rode forward, heading for the bridge. As they passed, many offered her a nod of thanks, among those being the ones who still gazed at her suspiciously every now and then, though at least they acknowledged her in the end.

Fíli and Kíli both offered her a clap on the shoulder and charming smiles as they rode past, and Nori gave her a sly wink, wishing her good luck on her return journey.

Bofur grabbed her hand and kissed the gloved back of it, saying, "Thank you for all of it, lass. Maybe when this is all over we'll come back to Archet and give ye a grand ol' time."

Saf smiled, ignoring the pang that went through her chest as she thought of Archet and only replying with, "I'm holding you to that, Bofur."

The dwarf chortled and swept his hat off to her as he continued after the others, then next came Bilbo, who halted Myrtle expertly and held out a hand to her.

"It was a pleasure, Miss Saf," he said politely, shaking her hand. "Good luck out there, and I hope to see you again someday."

"As do I, Master Baggins," she said, holding onto his hand as she met his eyes. "And, Bilbo…please be safe out there, you hear? Be on your guard, and if your gut tells you something is off, listen to it. It could save you in the long run."

Bilbo nodded, his smile fading a bit at her warning, but he still shook her hand one last time before spurring Myrtle forward again, bidding her farewell.

She watched him go until another horse rode up, this one carrying Gandalf, and she looked up to the Wizard, seeing him smiling down at her knowingly.

"Until next we meet, Safavael," he said kindly, and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Wherever you go, I hope you find your place," he added softly, and Saf dipped her head, wondering if she had just imagined the mischievous twinkle in his eye or not.

Before she could check, however, Gandalf had given her one last squeeze before taking off, and Saf sighed heavily, tearing her eyes away from his grey back and turning her horse before starting when she saw Thorin Oakenshield astride his pony behind her, gazing at her calmly.

"Master Oakenshield," she said, recovering her wits quickly and nodding her head respectfully. "I bid you a safe journey and good fortune at the end of your quest. May the Valar guide your path."

"And to you," he rumbled back, and Saf bit her lip, her anxiety starting to settle in again as she realized she had no idea where she was going after this.

She nodded again, and suddenly stuck out her hand on impulse. He looked down to it in surprise, not immediately taking it, and she wondered if she had crossed some line in Dwarven culture or something before he reached out his own hand and enveloped hers in it.

They shook hands, briefly and firmly, and Saf wondered if they had finally reached some mutual understanding as she felt his many scars and callouses under her fingers, before the handshake was broken as he pulled his hand away.

He ushered his pony forward, following the others, and Saf gave him one last glance as he rode away, tall and proud in his saddle, his eyes trained ahead as if he could sweep his gaze across all the land and already see the Lonely Mountain before him, heralding him to his lost kingdom.

Saf watched him until he was out of sight and she was left alone in the road, the sun bleeding its final rays before she turned away and left the Last Bridge behind.

* * *

Twilight had settled upon the world as Saf trudged down the Great East Road atop Frigg, having allowed her horse to clop along at a leisurely pace as they traveled in the opposite direction of the bridge.

Saf was lost in her thoughts, though they weren't really thoughts at all. They were clips of conversations and blurs of images, a confusing mess of emotions she hadn't realized she was feeling until now.

It was maddening, and greatly irritating, and she tried her best to pull herself out of them, knowing she had other important things to worry about, but finding it quite difficult as she rode in isolation, the only sounds around her being the wind creaking through the trees that hedged either side of the road and the occasional rustle of undergrowth from the creatures that lived there.

Her main concern was where she could possibly go from here. Archet was certainly out of the question with the threat of the Watchers looming over her. The only thing she kept coming back to was her idea of seeking refuge in Rohan; the wide lands of the horse kingdom were perfect for escaping identification, but was she ready for it? Traveling through it had been fine, but she had seen the way the people lived; many of them were starving and horribly poor, and she didn't know if she could stomach living in that environment; it would bring back too many memories for her to ever truly call that place home. Yet what other option did she have?

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that it took her several moments to register the sound of voices on the air, and she snapped her head up, gazing ahead of her and discerning two traveling shadows riding towards her down the road.

It was too dark to tell who they were at this distance, but Saf's fingers instantly chilled, her gut clenching in warning, and she knew that they had to be Watchers as she yanked Frigg around, spurring her forward as they raced silently back down the road.

She couldn't detect any signs of pursuit, but she kept Frigg running, not daring to stop in case she was wrong and they were right behind her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, all she could think being the words of the Watcher she had encountered in Archet as they slammed relentlessly through her head: _"I do know of a certain someone who would love nothing more than to see your heart served on a platter of Gondor's finest."_

She would not go back there. They would never catch her, they would never take her. She would sooner die than be dragged back into that hellhole.

White towers stained with blood plagued her vision as she rode, but she shook off the images, focusing on breathing and guiding Frigg down the road.

Soon, the Last Bridge came into view once again, but Saf and Frigg trundled over it, racing on as the night deepened and the trees on the sides of the road thickened.

When it became clear that the two figures were not following her, she slowed Frigg to a canter, though the bad feeling she could feel twisting her innards was still present.

She breathed evenly as they rounded a bend in the road, and ahead, Saf spotted a dilapidated farmhouse perched on a ridge above where she was, easily secluded and defensible from passersby on the road, though she assumed it was more chance than anything that she had seen it.

Not wanting to press Frigg any further tonight, and also because she was exhausted herself, she led Frigg up the ridge until they came to the farmhouse, though once they were there, Saf immediately knew something was wrong.

The night air had turned still and quiet, not even the drone of insects or the chirping of crickets to break the silence, and on closer inspection, she realized that the farmhouse had not just fallen apart from disuse; something had destroyed it – something _big._

Saf slid off the saddle and led Frigg to a tree, shushing the nervous horse and rubbing her neck soothingly as she tied the reins to a branch, unsheathing a dagger from her waist before she crept forward, into the dark.

She bent close to the ground and lightly skimmed her fingers over trampled grass, barely discerning the tracks in the dark, though it was too hard to say what the tracks belonged to. There were multiple pairs, however, and she followed them, only looking up when light began to glow ahead of her, and she cursed, getting to her feet and dashing forward.

"Dammit," she muttered, as she walked into a completely empty camp, devoid of any people and only cluttered with bedrolls and packs and a fire in the middle, and she knew this had to be the dwarves' camp. But the dwarves had gone, as had Gandalf and Bilbo, and they had taken their weapons with them, she noticed apprehensively.

Her heart sinking, she turned and looked in the direction of the dark trees before her, and with a heavy sigh, she started forward until she was swallowed into darkness.

* * *

**What? Did you guys think Saf and the Company were going to separate that easily? Come on, now, where's the fun in that? ;)**

**Sorry for the shorter chapter; I'm preparing to leave for a summer camp counseling job for the next three weeks and I've been super busy, but I wanted to get this update out so I wouldn't leave you guys hanging for another month, as I won't be able to update during the next few weeks.**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback! **


	8. 8: An Evening with Trolls

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Hello, hello! I'm so glad to be back, and I really want to thank y'all for being so patient. I had an amazing time at my job these past few weeks, but alas, I did miss my stories. So to show my gratitude for being such wonderful readers while I was away, I'm giving y'all an extra long chapter that I hope you will enjoy.**

**Welcome to all my new readers since last time, and thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter: RogueReaper, Stardust67, lovingthisbook, ChizomenoHime, lindir's gaze, Jemstone6259, PrimeEmily135, heroherondaletotherescue, Amanda (Guest), and Jo (Guest). Thank you so much!**

* * *

Chapter Eight: An Evening with Trolls

It was pitch dark in the forest, the half-moon offering limited light through the thick canopy as Saf crept through the trees, the trunks barely silhouetted as she picked her way silently over roots and underbrush.

She traveled northeast, into the deepest part of the forest, her gut goading her on with that same warning feeling she got back at the farmhouse. She knew the dwarves had gone into the forest, and that it was because of something dangerous, potentially life-threatening. She only hoped that she would find them, and that they would be unharmed when she did.

After several more minutes of slinking through the trees, occasionally dropping to her knees and scouring the ground for dwarf tracks or spotting broken twigs and branches, the forest seemed to get the tiniest bit brighter, and Saf squinted her eyes, making out the dull glow of what she presumed to be a fire about a hundred more yards into the trees.

Gripping her dagger more securely, Saf dashed through the trees, toward the source of the light, her heart rate picking up in response to the adrenaline she could feel pumping through her veins.

She vaulted over an uprooted tree, an event that had happened quite recently, she deducted, since the earth that had once held the roots was still soft and scattered about in clumps too purposeful to be the work of nature.

Now she could hear the crackling of the flames, proving her theory of a fire correct, and above that, she could detect a voice, though the words were muffled to her since she was still on the outskirts of what she supposed was a clearing before her.

What she needed was a vantage point, to scope out the situation, and after looking around, she spotted a large boulder to her left, which would have to make due; the trees here were too thin and offered little protection for her to safely perch in one, so she quickly scampered over to the boulder and began to climb it, keeping her body low as she did so.

She crept slowly to the top, instinctively tensing when she heard a new voice floating on the air, one that was unfamiliar and spoke with a revolting accent that made her nose wrinkle. Being careful not to let her head pop up too far, she cautiously peeked over the top of the boulder and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up at what she saw.

It seemed she had found the Company, all luckily unharmed; though she doubted they would be safe for long, considering half of them were currently roasting on a spit above an enormous fire, and the other half was stuffed into sacks on the far edge of the clearing, wriggling about and cursing at their captors.

"Oh, disgusting," Saf whispered to herself, as her eyes switched to the three fat, ugly trolls milling about the clearing, two of them turning the spit and the third looking down at something on the ground, and it took a few moments for Saf to pick out the tiny figure of Bilbo standing in a sack before the troll, looking quite like a doll compared to its girth.

" – you are making a terrible mistake!" the hobbit was saying, his voice coming out a tad higher than usual as Saf watched, half of her attention focused on what was happening and the other calculating her best chances for getting them out of this mess.

"You can't reason with 'em, they're half-wits!" One of the dwarves on the spit – Dori, she guessed – called out to Bilbo, immediately earning a retort from Bofur.

"Half-wits?" the hatted dwarf echoed. "What does that make us, then?"

Saf rolled her eyes, not quite disbelieving of the dwarves' defiance, even in such a dangerous situation. _Stubborn 'til the end, this lot._

Only half-listening to Bilbo's protests (though she commended him for his distraction technique), she cast her gaze about the clearing, looking for anything that would help her achieve her goal of saving the Company.

Fighting the trolls was out of the question; taking on three fully-grown mountain-trolls was practically suicide, especially for someone as out of practice as she was. It was then that she noticed Gandalf was nowhere to be found, and she cursed the Grey Wizard's absence, suddenly realizing she would have to play this by ear, and either succeed, or wait for the wizard to find her remains amongst the Company's.

Her free hand roamed agitatedly over the rock she was perched upon, racking her brains on any information she could recall of mountain-trolls. Unfortunately, there wasn't much, considering they were nearly extinct and she had never encountered them before, but the only important thing she remembered was that their one weakness was sunlight.

_Excellent, _she thought sarcastically. _Because there's plenty of that around right now._

She grit her teeth in frustration, her brain working overtime as it became clear Bilbo was bullshitting himself deeper with the trolls, and her fingers rubbed against a crack in the rock beneath her, her nails digging into the worn crevice, before she suddenly froze, an idea popping into her head like one of Gandalf's fireworks.

She whirled her head around, looking to the east behind her, and very faintly on the horizon, she could make out the tiniest sliver of light, the first layer of night peeling back to reveal the dawn as she looked back down to the crack beneath her. The fault went all the way down the rock and appeared to be on its last leg, barely able to keep the stone together, and she started to map out her plan.

The idea was set; now all she needed were a few items, and then she could get to work.

She shimmied down the rock quietly, vaguely listening as the dwarves began to rant down in the clearing about something Bilbo had just said (she had a feeling it had something to do with skinning), and then set about creeping along the outskirts of the clearing, keeping her body hunched as she darted among the underbrush, glad for her dark ensemble as she picked her way towards where the dwarves in the sacks lay on the other side.

Saf had to thank Bilbo for his continuous intervention with the trolls, even if it was unbeknownst to him that he was helping divert their attention away from anything else, such as spotting her slinking around their camp as she finally made it to the sacked dwarves.

She squatted behind a bush, trying to make out those lying before her and choosing which ones would be best for her plan. Directly in front of her was Thorin Oakenshield, his raven hair streaked with silver a dead giveaway, and she tried not to snort at the sight of him chewing on the ropes tying his sack together, keeping him in mind as she made out the rest to be Fíli, Kíli, Óin, Balin, Bombur, and of course, Bilbo.

Four was all she would need, hopefully; it would be risky, taking so many with her out from under the trolls' noses, but she prayed that the creatures were as daft as they looked and wouldn't notice.

Taking a deep breath, Saf crept forward until she was directly behind Thorin and raised a hand, before latching it around his mouth and dragging him back into the bushes, ignoring his grunt of surprise and anger and his struggles as she tilted his head back, widening her eyes in warning until he finally realized who she was and stopped trying to wriggle away from her.

She watched his eyes turn into slits of fury, before settling into a glare of icy anger and bewilderment as she let go of his mouth, the dark-haired dwarf immediately spitting out, "What are _you _doing here?"

Saf rolled her eyes, not having time to deal with the dwarf's suspicion as she snapped, "Oh, I'm just trying to sell some home-baked goods to these lovely trolls here. Sorry if I'm trying to save your life in the meantime, though."

Thorin scowled, his features dark with distrust, but when Saf raised her dagger and gestured to the sack, he grunted and looked away. Taking that as a yes, Saf sliced open the ropes holding the sack together and sat back on her heels as Thorin kicked his way out of the rough, rotten-smelling material, finally extracting himself from the sack and tossing it into the bushes behind them forcefully.

"What?" Thorin snapped, when he turned back around and found Saf averting her eyes from him, her face tinged with the slightest red as she tried to contain the laughter building in her chest.

"Nothing," she said, waving him off as she looked back to him, though her eyes still sparked with mirth. "I was just, ah, admiring your fashion choice."

She watched as Thorin glanced down to himself and bit back another laugh as his face flushed red, more from annoyance than anything else, before he looked back up to her with a warning in his gaze that told her she should never breathe a word of this, ever, lest her head be shoved through a pike.

"It was not my choice," he growled, as if Saf hadn't already guessed, and she nodded, trying to keep her expression serious despite seeing the majestic dwarf-lord skimpy in his skivvies before her. "Now, do you have a plan, or was this as far ahead as you hoped to get?"

Saf glared, nettled by his vague insult, but she chose to ignore the jab, instead replying, "Yes, I do have a plan. But first I need you, your nephews, and preferably Bombur before we can set it in motion."

She flipped her dagger and held it out to him, pommel-first, and watched him hesitate before taking it, looking back to her with that same distrustful glare he had bestowed upon her that first morning in the tavern, when he had questioned her as to how she knew Gandalf the Grey.

She stared back impassively, arching a brow, before he finally dropped her gaze and crept back through the bushes to free the other three she needed.

Saf waited in the bushes, her fingers tapping anxiously on her knee as she set up the next stage of the plan in her head. She would need something heavy from the trolls' camp; fortunately she already had the item in mind. The only problem would be trying to sneak it away from the notice of the trolls.

But they would cross that bridge when they got to it. Right now, all she could do was wait for Thorin to free the dwarves, and she peered back through the bushes, silently willing him to hurry up as she tuned back in to Bilbo's conversation with the trolls, alert for any sign that something was about to go wrong as she listened.

"Wha' a load o' rubbish!" One of the spit-turning trolls was protesting, glaring at the hobbit with stupid, beady eyes as Bilbo shifted nervously in his sack. "I've eaten plenty o' dwarves with they skins on; scoff 'em, I say, boots and all!"

"Now that w-would not be healthy at all," Bilbo stammered, just as the bushes next to Saf rustled, and she whirled around, only to see Fíli crawling out of the foliage, the blond dwarf looking quite surprised to see her, but then grinning and throwing her a wink all the same as he joined her.

"I mean, just think of what all that skin and hair would do to your digestive tracts," the hobbit was rambling, sounding slightly breathless, and Saf hoped he could keep this up for a few more minutes until she could execute her plan. Though judging by the disdainful looks the trolls were throwing at him, she decided that maybe they would have to work a bit faster if they wanted their burglar to live.

"No, no, I get wha' yer sayin', Bert," the other spit-turning troll said, and Saf had to wonder how this one survived past infancy as she took in his lazy eyes and slavering mouth, exchanging a look with Fíli that clearly read _They have _names?

"There's nothin' wrong with a bit o' raw Dwarf!" Instantly their humor vanished as the troll marched over to the sacked Company, and Saf saw Thorin throw himself into Fíli's vacated sack, hiding the dagger within the folds as the troll picked up a squirming Bombur, the ginger dwarf spitting curses Saf was quite shocked to hear coming from someone usually so quiet and genial.

"Nice an' crunchy…" the troll said, lowering Bombur closer to his mouth, before Bilbo piped up, his voice nearly squeaking as he cried, "No, not that one! He-he's infected!"

Immediately the troll gagged and backed away, tossing Bombur back on to the pile as all three turned to stare at Bilbo with varying expressions of disgust and suspicion.

Saf released the breath she had been holding, watching Thorin take advantage of the trolls' distraction once more and crawl over to Bombur, speaking to the fat dwarf in a low voice before cutting his bonds and sending him back into the bushes with Saf and Fíli.

"You all right, Bombur?" Fíli asked, clapping him on the shoulder as he pulled himself through the bushes, and he nodded, though he still looked quite pale in the face as he caught sight of Saf and did a double-take.

"Hey there," she greeted, giving the ginger dwarf what she hoped was a reassuring smile as he still stared in confusion. "No time for questions at the moment, I'm afraid, but if we all survive this I'll do my best to explain."

He still looked extremely confused, but after searching her face with wide hazel eyes, he finally nodded, and all three turned back to the conversation.

"You wha'?" The troll talking to Bilbo exclaimed, and the hobbit nodded vigorously as the rest of the dwarves looked on with scandalized expressions.

"Yeah, he's got…worms in his…tubes," Bilbo said desperately. "In-in fact they all have! They're infested with parasites; it's a nasty business. Personally, I wouldn't risk it, I really wouldn't."

"Did he say 'parasites?'" Óin questioned in offense, as the rest of the dwarves began to shout insults at the hobbit.

"I don't have parasites, _you_ have parasites!" Kíli shouted, and Saf had to refrain from smacking a hand to her forehead.

"Honestly," she sighed. "Do they not understand that Bilbo is trying to save their asses?"

Fíli winced. "Well, dwarves aren't exactly known for their wisdom, are they?"

"This isn't even wisdom!" Saf groaned. "It's common sense!"

Fíli didn't have a reply to this, for suddenly they saw Thorin cutting Kíli's bonds and whispering something in the younger prince's ear that made his arguments stop and look to his uncle in puzzlement, before Óin shouted, "I've got parasites as big as me arm!"

"Mine are the biggest, by Mahal they're _huge," _Kíli quickly added, as he shed his sack and dove into the bushes where they were, the other dwarves continuing to shout about how big their parasites were as Thorin quickly joined them in the underbrush.

"All right," Saf said, once they were all gathered and Thorin had handed back her dagger, which she sheathed with a nod of thanks. "So, um, long time, no see, eh?"

When all she got were blank looks, she nodded and moved on, saying, "Right, then. Look to the east, over there."

They obeyed, and Saf turned to look, as well, seeing the horizon stained with pink as the sun fought its way to the surface of the sky.

"We have roughly thirty or so minutes until the sun rises," she continued, when they all looked back to her. "This helps us because sunlight is mountain-trolls' one weakness; if they're trapped outside in daylight, they'll turn to stone. But, we can help speed up this process by breaking that rock – " here she pointed to the boulder she had previously occupied – "and allowing the sunlight to enter the clearing several minutes earlier than waiting for it to clear the tree-line first, in which time, all of you would probably be eaten."

"How do you expect us to break that rock?" Kíli asked, his brows furrowed. "I mean, we may be dwarves, but not even we can command stone to break with our bare hands."

"That's why we need to get that giant ladle over there." Saf pointed, and the rest followed her finger, their eyes coming to rest on the stone spoon that had to be twice the size of her body. "Fíli and Kíli, you're in charge of that. Once we have the ladle, there's a giant fissure in the rock that we can use to our advantage. I'll scale the tree that's hanging over it with Thorin, and then you'll pass the ladle up to us. We'll drop it into the fissure, and then Bombur is going to twist it until the crack widens and the rock finally breaks, letting in the sunlight, and then we're golden – no pun intended."

It was silent for a few moments, and Saf looked around at them, seeing their thoughtful and skeptical expressions as they tried to work through the plan in their heads.

Finally, Kíli was the first to speak up, a grin splitting his features as he said, "It's mad, but I think it could work. Let's do it."

Fíli and Bombur nodded in agreement, and then they all looked to Thorin, whose scowl was as deep as ever and his brows contracted low over his eyes, making them look almost black.

"There is a small chance of this actually succeeding," he said, shaking his head. "It will be a miracle if we can pull this off."

Saf shrugged. "Unless you have a better idea, this is all that we have," she said, and Thorin closed his eyes, exhaling heavily from his long nose, and she knew she had him trapped.

"Very well," he finally agreed. "Let's get to work."

* * *

As Fíli and Kíli dashed off to retrieve the stone ladle, Saf led Bombur and Thorin around the outskirts of the clearing, wincing at how loud they were moving through the underbrush, though with the sounds of conversation and the roaring fire in the clearing, she wasn't extremely worried over being heard. Being seen though was another matter entirely.

"Will you stay down?" She hissed at Thorin, whose dark head was bobbing above the bushes once again, and she saw the dwarf shoot her a glare from the corner of her eye.

"These creatures are too daft to notice the difference between a head and a bush," he retorted, though Saf saw him grudgingly duck down lower until he was nearly crawling along the ground such as she.

"Doesn't hurt to be cautious," she replied, sorely wanting to point out that she was several inches taller than him, and he didn't see _her _trying to blow their cover. She decided that would be very childish and immature, however, so she kept her comments to herself as they made their way to the rock.

A few seconds later they had reached the boulder, and Saf gestured that it was safe to stand up now as Thorin and Bombur moved closer to listen to what she had to say.

"All right," she began. "Bombur, I need you to stay at the base of the rock and wait for Fíli and Kíli. When they get here and pass the ladle up to Thorin and me, then you'll wait for us to drop it before doing your thing." The ginger dwarf nodded, his soft features looking uncharacteristically serious, before Saf turned to Thorin.

"We're going to climb that tree hanging over the boulder," she said, pointing to the tree dangling above the rock, and she prayed that it would be strong enough to hold both of them, plus the weight of the ladle, as she continued. "I'll go up first, and then you'll follow me. When we get the ladle, we have to drop it handle-first into the fissure, or else Bombur won't be able to get the leverage he needs to break apart the rock. Are we clear on what we have to do?"

The two dwarves nodded, though Saf noticed how sullen Thorin looked over being directed by someone other than himself. She didn't have time to dwell on that, however, for just then Fíli and Kíli came bursting out of the bushes, both panting from the exertion of running with such a heavy object between them.

Saf swallowed nervously, having underestimated just how big the ladle really was, but it was worth a shot. Steeling her nerves, she nodded for the dwarves to get in their positions, before beckoning Thorin after her as they sprinted to the tree.

Saf grabbed hold of a gnarled knob jutting out of the trunk and hauled herself up, reaching her other hand out to grab onto a low-hanging branch as she hurriedly scaled the tree. She tossed a glance over her shoulder and saw the horizon becoming gradually lighter, but not fast enough; she could hear Bilbo floundering in his bid for time down below, and she knew they wouldn't have long to get this to work before the trolls finally got fed up and started eating the rest of the Company.

She reached the branch she had picked out from below, a long, somewhat thick beam that swayed over the boulder, and she hesitatingly placed a foot on the branch, feeling it bend and creak under her weight, but thankfully holding as she crept out more, until she could make out the fissure in the rock below her.

The tree shook from behind her as Thorin climbed up, and she had to stifle a snort as she heard him muttering Dwarven curses to himself as twigs snapped and leaves rustled as he fought his way to the branch she was perched on.

Finally he made it, and though the branch dipped lower and groaned terribly when he added his own weight, it still held, and she was glad he was rid of his armor and weapons, else they would've plunged to the ground as soon as he joined her.

When they were in place, Saf gave a thumbs-up to the dwarves below, and the two princes bustled over with the ladle, climbing midway up the boulder so they were high enough to reach the two in the tree.

Saf reached out and grasped the handle, nearly gasping at the weight of the utensil as she pulled with all her might, the spoon slowly inching its way up as she struggled with it, the two princes still pushing it from the bottom.

"Dammit," she muttered, as her arms screamed a protest, before suddenly Thorin's hands were there, and the weight was distributed evenly as they hauled the ladle up into their branch, the wood suffering greatly, but still continuing to hold.

After what felt like a century of playing tug-of-war with the ladle, it was finally settled in their branch, and Saf readjusted her grip on the giant cooking utensil, wiping sweat off her forehead as she did so.

It was then that she became aware of the heat pressed into her back, and she half-turned, starting when she realized how close Thorin Oakenshield had gotten during their struggle with the ladle.

His chest was unyielding against her back, burning quite like a furnace, and when she glanced down, her eyes met his, a deep sapphire laced with something lighter as the sky brightened, their faces mere inches apart in their proximity.

Saf jerked back as far as she was allowed on the branch, her skin prickling uncomfortably at the close contact, while Thorin merely stared at her indifferently, only a black brow arching slightly at her jumpy movement.

She shook her head, signaling nothing was wrong as she turned back to the clearing below, silently willing the sun to rise faster as she realized things had taken a turn for the worse.

"'E's lyin'!" The troll speaking to Bilbo spat, and Saf saw the hobbit's face pale as the dwarves fell silent, looking between the troll and their burglar in fear.

"You think I don' know what yer up to?" the troll continued, jabbing Bilbo in the chest with a thick finger. "This li'l ferret is takin' us fer fools!"

Bilbo spluttered out a protest, and Saf knew it was now or never if she wanted to save Bilbo's life. She glanced behind her once more and saw the sun clearing the horizon; two more minutes and those trolls would be statues.

"Bombur!" she called down as quietly as she could. "Get into position!"

The ginger dwarf complied, waddling up the boulder, and Saf turned back to Thorin, hoisting the ladle higher in her grip.

"Ready?" She asked him, and he nodded solemnly, his jaw clenched as he lifted the ladle.

"On the count of three," she said. "One, two, thr—"

"Oi! You!" A rough voice suddenly snarled, and Saf and Thorin whirled to see one of the spit-turning trolls glaring up at them in the tree, his salivating mouth pulled into a gruesome scowl.

"Now!" Saf cried, ignoring the trolls as they turned to stare at them in bewilderment, and she and Thorin released the ladle, the spoon landing handle-first with a dull _thunk _into the fissure.

Bombur grabbed hold of the ladle just as the trolls marched over to them, Bilbo and the other dwarves temporarily forgotten as Fíli and Kíli leaped onto the rock and helped Bombur twist the ladle, the rock groaning and shrieking as they did so.

The troll named Bert was about to reach out and grab them before Saf whipped off her bow and nocked an arrow, letting the projectile fly and glance off the troll's thick-skinned hand. She knew it would have no effect, but it was enough to stop the troll and turn its attention to her, gnashing its flat teeth together in a snarl as it stomped over to the tree.

"Stay where you are!" Saf roared, nocking another arrow and aiming it at the troll, and all three of them stopped momentarily at the venom in her voice.

Before the trolls regained their senses and continued after them, though, there was an earsplitting crack of stone, and they all looked to see the boulder crumbling in half, the fissure finally broken.

For one horrible moment, nothing happened; the clearing remained dark, and Saf's stomach dropped, realizing her calculations must have been dreadfully off as the trolls looked back and forth between her and the boulder, nasty smiles stretching across their faces as they realized her plan had failed.

Then, in one glorious moment, the clearing was suddenly flooded with golden light, and Saf had to turn away, her eyes watering, as the trolls gave sudden shrieks and began to fold in on themselves, their leathery skin turning grey and hard as their muscles convulsed and their voices silenced, turning into statues in less than a minute as the light continued to blaze.

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Saf opened her eyes, becoming accustomed to the sudden light, and turned to look at the clearing, the Company staring back at her with wide eyes.

Then they began to cheer, and Saf smiled as she saw Bombur and the two princes rush forward, off to free their friends from the spit and remove them from their sacks as they continued to cheer.

Saf sighed, suddenly exhausted, and she turned to start down the branch, but stopped when she realized Thorin Oakenshield was blocking her path, his arms crossed and his eyes icy as he glared up at her.

"Why are you here?" He demanded without preamble, and Saf stifled another sigh, wondering why he couldn't wait thirty seconds before jumping down her throat.

"You swore you had no intentions of joining or following my Company," he growled when she didn't immediately answer. "So what in Durin's name—"

"I did not follow you for the sake of going back on my word," she snapped, glaring right back at the dwarf as the branch swayed under their weight. "If you must know, I ended up here because I was nearly caught by a patrol of those bandits along the Great East Road. I came across that farmhouse over there, but when I got here, I found your camp empty, and I went to investigate what had happened to you lot, and found you here, about to be eaten by trolls. And I don't hear much gratitude considering I was the one who got you out of this mess!"

Thorin scowled, but the look was so familiar it did not even faze Saf anymore, who merely sniffed and folded her arms, as well.

"We would not have needed _saving _if that amateur burglar would have done his job correctly," he growled under his breath, and Saf bristled at his accusation.

"I would have thought that a leader such as yourself would be loath to blame others for their mistakes," she said coldly, and she was glad to see a tiny glimmer of abashment in his eyes before she sidestepped around him on the branch and shimmied back down the tree, her muscles taut and her teeth grinding against one another in anger over his words.

_Ungrateful bastard, _she thought vehemently. _Twice I've saved their skins now, and he still acts as if I mean to off them myself._

Hissing out a frustrated breath, Saf stomped around the clearing as the dwarves re-donned their armor and weapons, looking for the arrow she had shot at the troll as she blew off some steam from her confrontation with Thorin.

She whacked aside bushes and brambles in her search, cursing audibly until a voice said from behind her, "Looking for this?"

She turned and saw Kíli standing behind her, the dark-haired prince smiling cheekily as he held up her arrow, turning it deftly in his fingers as she forced a smile.

"Yes, thank you," she said, taking it from him and checking for any damage; the tip was nicked off, but it would be easily fixable if she found a forge sometime soon, and replaced it in her quiver, raising an eyebrow when Kíli still stood there.

"Thank you, by the way," he blurted, and Saf's brow raised higher in a silent question as he grinned. "For, you know, coming back, and helping us again. It's appreciated, even if Thorin doesn't quite agree."

Saf snorted. "That's an understatement," she muttered, and Kíli chuckled. "But, um, you're welcome, I guess."

He nodded once, before gesturing for her to follow him as he led her back to the others, who were now all fully clothed once more and had taken to circling the troll statues, reenacting their words and actions much to their own hilarity.

"Say, Kíli," Saf said, a sudden thought occurring to her, and he hummed in response. "Where did Gandalf go?"

"Oh," Kíli said, his smile fading a bit as they drew closer to the Company. "Well, he and Thorin had a…argument, when we first set up camp. Gandalf wanted to move on, take us to this Elven place, but Thorin refused, so Gandalf said something about seeking company with himself since he was the only one with any sense, and then he just…left."

Saf frowned, turning Kíli's words over in her head. It wasn't surprising to hear that the wizard had taken off without a word of his whereabouts; Gandalf had a penchant for dramatic greetings and exits, but it was strange that he would be gone for so long now. He wouldn't have left the Company, this she was sure of; no matter his assurances that this quest was for the benefit of Thorin reclaiming his birthright and killing the dragon, Saf knew there was another reason for the wizard to be involved in this journey. But what was it?

She was broken out of her thoughts when there was a loud cheer, and she looked up from studying the ground to see the Company all smiling and clapping at her (well, most of them, anyway; half of them still looked vaguely annoyed at her presence, and only gave her gruff nods of acknowledgement).

"Um…" Saf said uncertainly, gazing around in confusion as Bofur swept his hat off his head, bending to kiss her hand as she watched in bafflement.

"Fíli and Bombur told us how your plan helped save the day," he explained, and she felt her face flush as some of the others nodded in agreement. "Ya helped us again, lass, and I don't think any of us will be forgetting that anytime soon."

"Oh, well, uh, Kíli, and Thorin, they helped as well…" She tried to say, but she was largely ignored as the Company went back to bantering about the best moments of their capture, not sounding fazed at all by the fact that their lives had been in imminent danger, and Saf shook her head in wonder.

Her eyes drifted over the stone trolls, feeling a faint glow of satisfaction as she took in their petrified snarls and unmoving bodies, before her gaze landed on Bilbo standing a few feet away, on the outskirts of the laughing Company and facing the trees surrounding them.

Saf walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, pulling away quickly when the hobbit jumped and looked up at her with wide brown eyes.

"Sorry," she said hastily. "I was just, ah, making sure you were all right."

"No, no, you're fine," Bilbo assured, waving off her apology. "I'm just, a little jumpy, you could say, after…all that." He gestured to the trolls behind them, and she nodded thoughtfully, taking in his tired eyes and the way he worried at his lower lip.

"You were very brave, you know, Master Baggins," she said, and he looked to the ground at her praise, the pointed tips of his ears flushing red. "If you hadn't the nous to play for time, that plan would never have worked, and we'd probably be digesting in a troll's stomach by now."

"A lovely image, thank you," he said, wrinkling his nose, before he exhaled a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping a little. "But thank you, Miss Saf. I appreciate your words, even if they aren't exactly deserved."

"What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head when he shuffled his feet anxiously.

"It was my fault that the trolls captured us," he said. "I was tasked to free the ponies, but I got caught, and they threatened to rip my arms off unless the dwarves surrendered." He shuddered at the memory while Saf watched carefully. "I should never have come," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I don't know what Gandalf was thinking…"

Saf hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder again, forcing the hobbit to meet her gaze as she took a deep breath; inspiration was not one of her strong suits, but she knew she had to try.

"Listen, Bilbo," she said, using his name in the hopes to break through his dejection. "Gandalf chose you for this quest for a specific reason; for what, exactly, I think only he knows. But he sees something in you, Bilbo, a certain brand of courage, or loyalty, or wisdom, that he knows will help aid this quest to success. You may doubt yourself and your abilities along the way, and that is fine; everyone does. But you are meant to help these dwarves in a way that Gandalf sees only you doing, and you must remember that. You will find your courage, and when you do, you will realize that you are capable of doing great things along this journey. You just have to trust that you will find your way soon."

She hoped that had been enough to bolster the hobbit's confidence, and she visibly relaxed when he looked back up to her with a small smile.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she gave his shoulder a slight squeeze, just as a figure emerged into the clearing off to their left.

"Gandalf!" Bilbo cried, and he pulled Saf along as the Company heeded the hobbit's shout and turned to see the wizard striding toward them, looking around with a serene smile on his face as if he hadn't even noticed the trolls.

"Where did you go, if I may ask?" Thorin said, striding to the front of the Company and stopping before the wizard, crossing his arms as he looked up into the benign features.

"To look ahead," came Gandalf's airy reply, as he sidestepped the king-in-exile and began to examine the trolls curiously.

"And what brought you back?" Thorin pressed.

"Looking behind," he answered, and turned to give Thorin a sly smile that the dwarf accepted with a curt nod.

"Nasty business," Gandalf continued, as he looked around at the Company. "But still you are all in one piece."

Suddenly his eyes alighted upon Saf, and the woman shifted awkwardly as his bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise, though the mischievous glint in his eyes said differently.

"Ah, what a surprise!" The wizard exclaimed as he swooped over to her. "Whatever are you doing back here, my dear girl?"

"I caught sight of a bandit patrol along the road," she said, giving the wizard a meaningful look, and his eyes narrowed as he understood her silent warning. "I came back, retraced my steps, and then found your camp, and the subsequent troll adventure afterwards."

Gandalf nodded slowly, and as he turned away, Saf caught Thorin's eye, the dwarf glaring at her so intensely she wondered if she was about to catch fire before Gandalf spoke again.

"There is a troll hoard to the north of here," he announced. "I think it wise if some were to investigate it, while others pack up our camp so we can move on from here."

The Company nodded, and Thorin began to separate the dwarves into the two groups as Gandalf turned back to Saf, fixing her with a serious gaze as he said quietly, "There is also someone I would like you to meet."

Saf blinked, about to protest, before he silenced her with a sharp look. "And I think you will be interested in what he has to say."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the Company was ready to venture to the troll hoard, and Gandalf took the lead, Saf following a few steps behind with some trepidation.

She had no idea who Gandalf was talking about, and frankly, she wasn't too keen on meeting this stranger, though she lacked much say in the matter considering she had nowhere else to go for the time being.

So she trudged along through the foliage, a rotten smell quite like that of raw sewage and carrion beginning to permeate the air the farther they walked, and Saf had to pull her cloak over her nose and mouth to prevent herself from gagging, though her eyes continued to stream and she knew she would not be able to rid herself of that stench for days afterward.

Finally they reached a cave set back amongst moss-covered stones, and the group assigned to search the hoard entered the opening with mutters and complaints, Gandalf leading the way with the tip of his staff alight as they descended into the hole.

The rest of the dwarves slumped to the ground, dropping their weapons and packs and grumbling about no sleep and rumbling bellies as food began to pass around.

Saf remained the only one standing, her nerves too wound up to even consider resting. Her body was still flooded with adrenaline from the preceding night, and her anxiety over this mysterious stranger plus the Watchers she knew to still be out there showed no signs of allowing her peace just yet.

She took to pacing in front of the troll hoard, her fingers clenching and unclenching with each step, and she only looked up when an apple was thrust in her face, a voice offering, "Here."

Fíli had stepped into the path of her pacing, and when she didn't immediately take the proffered apple, he held it out further.

"Healthy and delicious, right?" He smirked, and she quirked a grin in response. "Eat it; you look dead on your feet."

"Thanks," she said dryly, but she took the fruit nonetheless and bit into it, not realizing how hungry she had been until then.

She munched on the apple thoughtfully, standing in contented silence with the elder prince as he in turn chewed on a hunk of grainy bread beside her. They didn't speak until Saf had chucked her apple core as far into the trees as she could, and Fíli snorted.

"That was almost as bad as Kíli's," he joked, and she made a face at him.

"As long as it was better than his, I'll take what I can get," she replied, and Fíli grinned.

It was silent between them for a few more moments, until Fíli broke it again, his voice turning serious.

"I wanted to thank you," he said lowly, and Saf turned to look at him questioningly as he met her eyes. "For helping us out with the trolls, I mean. And before that, with helping us to get out of Archet."

Saf shrugged awkwardly, still not understanding why they felt the need to thank her at this point, but she still said, "It was nothing. Don't mention it."

Fíli opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, the group that had gone into the troll hoard emerged, coughing and gagging and carrying items she guessed had been of some value they had claimed for themselves in their hands.

Saf watched Gandalf stride over to Bilbo and hand him something – a dagger, she saw, but when the hobbit took it in his smaller hands, it looked quite like a sword, something he blanched at as Gandalf spoke lowly to him.

Her eyes snapped back, however, when she saw Thorin Oakenshield passing by, and her gaze was drawn to the new sword he held in his hands with interest.

"Is that a new blade?" She asked before she could stop herself, and Thorin turned to face her, raising the sword in his hand.

"Aye," he said, nodding, and Saf gestured to it.

"May I…see it?" she asked, and though he hesitated at first, he held it out to her, watching her carefully as she took it in her hands.

It was solid, but oddly light, with a smooth, polished hilt that quite resembled a tooth of some sort as she ran her hands over the fine leather sheath, rubbing off layers of dust and cobwebs as she did so.

She unsheathed the blade and admired the graceful curvature of the steel, and she noticed with some surprise that it was of Elvish make, if the slanted runes of the Tengwar were anything to go by as they glinted off the steel.

"This is a beautiful sword," she admired, before sheathing it and giving it back to him, and he nodded slowly.

"Not as steadfast as a Dwarven sword, but a good blade nonetheless," he acquiesced.

"I hope it serves you well," she said, and he dipped his head, before gesturing to her.

"And what of your weapons?" he said, when she only stared in confusion, but at his words she touched her fingers to her daggers.

"These are Gimilzôr and Pharazôr," she named, indicating each blade before unsheathing her sword from her back. "And this is Adûnabel."

She handed over her sword much as he had done and watched him swish the blade around a few times, taking note of the leather and steel hilt and studying the slightly curved blade itself, tracing a thick finger over the imprints in the iron, depicting the waning of the moon starting from the bottom and then to the rising of the sun near the sword's tip.

"Good craftsmanship," he admitted, as he returned it to her. "Forged by a smith of Man, I assume?"

Saf merely nodded, her pulse automatically quickening at the assumption. It was true that it was forged by a smith of Man, though the entire truth was that it had been her who had forged it. It was custom among the Dúnedain to forge their own swords when they came of age at their twenty-third winter, and Adûnabel was her pride and joy, the blade she had named 'west-flame,' as she had imagined it to be a symbol of hope for her people.

The memory sent a pang through her core as she re-sheathed the blade, but when she looked back up, it was to find Thorin staring at her with an almost triumphant gleam in his jewel-blue eyes.

"Yet I should think those names are not Westron in the slightest," he said nonchalantly, and Saf froze, her heart rate spiking as she realized her crucial mistake.

_Damn you, Thorin Oakenshield, _she thought in panic. _And damn yourself for being so outrageously idiotic in the first place!_

"Indeed they are not," she said evenly, lifting her chin haughtily and not betraying a single sign of panic as she stared him down. "They are simply derived from a tale of the ancient Númenóreans my father used to tell me when I was a child. He was always fascinated with the Men of the West, you see; and when he died and gifted me these weapons from his will, I named them something he would have appreciated."

They stared at each other for the longest of moments, the dwarf-lord still looking oddly triumphant and she as bored as possible, until help arrived in the form of Gandalf the Grey walking over to them and gesturing for Saf to follow him.

With one last gloating look of having caught her in a lie, Thorin went back to the rest of the Company while Saf followed Gandalf into the tree-line, trying to keep herself from throwing up at the sickening realization that she had almost revealed her identity to Thorin Oakenshield. But it was impossible for him to know exactly who she was, and if he accused her of anything, she had Gandalf on her side to cover for her. But still; she couldn't shake the faint feeling coming over her limbs as she stumbled after Gandalf deeper into the forest.

"Safavael Tinnuhiril," Gandalf said, breaking her out of her thoughts as they came to a stop several yards out of the Company's hearing range. "I would like to introduce you to a dear old friend of mine, Radagast the Brown."

Saf looked up and came face-to-face with one of the most bizarre-looking men she had ever seen in her life. His brown robes were patched and frayed, and quite frankly smelled of manure, though she wasn't that surprised, considering the man had bird excrement running down the side of his face and dripping into his wild and tangled grey beard. His eyes were frighteningly blue and very disoriented, though she could not doubt the aura of magic and power radiating from his being, nor the jewel-tipped staff he held clutched in his hands as she came to terms with who this man was.

"Radagast the Brown," she repeated, a far-off memory of her childhood lessons returning to her. "One of the five Istari, of the Order of Wizards."

"This one knows her lore, then," Radagast said, appraising her with his slightly crazed eyes as Gandalf placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Radagast, this is Safavael Tinnuhiril," Gandalf introduced, before Saf cut him off.

"Just Saf," she said abruptly, and though Gandalf looked vaguely irritated, he nodded in assent.

"Saf, as she prefers," he continued. "She is of the Dúnedain, a former Ranger of the North."

"So she knows of the threat?" Radagast said, eyeing Gandalf shrewdly, and Saf furrowed her brows.

"What threat?" she asked, and she heard Gandalf sigh.

"She has been out of commission for a while, Radagast," the Grey Wizard said. "This is why I have brought her to speak with us; she deserves to know what lurks in the shadows."

"But why are you not telling the Company?" she demanded. "Why only me?"

Gandalf and Radagast exchanged a glance, and she felt a prickle of annoyance as she noticed the patronizing gleam in Radagast's eyes.

"They will know in time, when we have more answers," Gandalf assured her, and Saf frowned, not liking where this was going at all. "But you were once a Ranger, tasked with aiding and protecting the lands of the west, and you were once aware of every danger that roamed your domain. And here you shall be informed once again."

"There is a darkness growing in Dol Guldur," Radagast said, fixing her with a piercing gaze that made her skin crawl.

"Dol Guldur?" she repeated in bafflement. "That fortress has been abandoned for centuries."

"So I thought, as well," Gandalf said gravely. "Until Radagast ventured there, and brought back this."

He removed a clothed object from the interior of his robes, and Saf watched in intrigue as he removed the cover, and revealed a sword of black iron that reeked of blood and foul things, and Saf instinctively flinched away, her stomach churning at the feel of _evil _emanating from the blade.

"What is that?" she breathed, still staring as Gandalf replaced it back into his robes, his features as solemn as she had ever seen them.

"A Morgul blade," he said, and Saf shivered at the word, long since heard to her, but never forgotten. "A blade that should never have been seen on this earth again, yet sits here in our midst."

"But…how?" she said, shaking her head. "What's the threat? I don't understand."

"Neither do we," Gandalf said, sharing another covert look with Radagast. "But we are to seek out answers, and I believe our best chance is to first travel to Rivendell, and summon a meeting of the White Council."

"Which I will not take part in," Radagast sniffed, scratching at the dried bird poop on his cheek. "Not if Saruman is there, the uptight prat."

Gandalf rolled his eyes, but Saf looked back and forth between the two wizards, still utterly confused.

"Hold on," she said. "You still haven't told me what this threat is. What could possibly have retrieved a Morgul blade from beyond the world of the living?"

There was a tense moment of silence as the two wizards glanced sidelong at each other again, and Saf was about to tell them to shove off until Radagast said in a low voice, "A Necromancer."

There was a heartbeat of silence, two, as Saf tried to register this information.

"A Necromancer?" she echoed. "That's not possible—"

She never got to finish her sentence, however, for just then there was a bone-chilling howl that tore through the still morning air, and the three froze as the Company came crashing through the undergrowth, weapons raised as they formed a perimeter, looking around for the source of the noise as Saf instinctively slipped into her guard, unsheathing Adûnabel from her back as she looked around warily.

"Was that – was that a _wolf?" _Bilbo asked, his voice wavering slightly. "Are there _wolves _out there?"

"That is not a wolf," Saf said slowly, before a snarl cut off the rest of her sentence.

She spun to see a massive, black-furred creature charge out of the underbrush surrounding them, snarling as it leapt for Ori, paws outstretched, before Kíli put an arrow down its maw and it crashed to the ground, dead, at Ori's feet.

Another one bounded for the Company soon after, this one with russet fur, but it didn't get far before Dwalin swung one of his giant axes and embedded it in the creature's neck, Saf wincing when she heard the crunch of bones breaking and saw blood spurt from the creature's wound when Dwalin removed his weapon.

"Warg scouts!" Thorin yelled, as he surveyed the clearing with thunderous eyes before his gaze landed on Saf.

_"You," _he snarled, and Saf took an automatic step back as he stalked toward her, his eyes ablaze. "You gutless, scheming _rat. _Who do you work for?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Saf demanded, gaping. "You think _I _did this?"

"First you show up in the dead of night, and now there's an orc pack on our tail," Thorin snarled. "So I'll ask again: _who do you work for?"_

"No one!" she said, aghast. "I _helped _you, remember?"

"You helped us until the time suited you to betray us!" he roared, but Saf did not flinch, not even when the tip of his axe found its way below her jaw.

"Thorin Oakenshield, enough with this madness!" Gandalf thundered. "You have been betrayed, yes, but not by Saf!"

"Then who?" he snarled, turning to face the wizard with more rage in his expression than a thunderstorm. "No one knows of this quest beyond my kin, and this woman! Who would betray me if not her?"

"There will be a time for accusations later!" Gandalf admonished. "Right now, you are being hunted."

This last part was reinforced by more howls punctuating the tension thick in the air, and Thorin finally snapped back to his senses, stepping away from Saf, but throwing her one last withering look.

"What are we to do?" Thorin demanded. "Our ponies bolted after last night, and we do not know their numbers."

"Then we have but one option," Gandalf said gravely, looking around at the tense Company with piercing eyes. "And that is to run as if the demons of the Void themselves were on our heels."

* * *

**And here is where the action starts to pick up... Hope that chapter satisfied; it was hard to get back into the swing of things, but I hope y'all liked, all the same.**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback! **


	9. 9: Troubled Minds

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

***incoherent screaming* Despite the many edits and re-edits of this chapter, I am still not fully satisfied with it, but I hope y'all will like it all the same. School starts up again soon, so updates may be more sporadic (looks at stories I haven't updated yet and cringes), so just a heads-up.**

**Thanks to all the new faves/follows, and many thanks to the reviewers from last time: Stardust67, lindir's gaze, kellyjb514, ChizomenoHime, Vanafindiel, Athena Silverwolf, herherondaletotherescue, and Jo (Guest)!**

* * *

Chapter Nine: Troubled Minds

Saf hated running.

Not because she wasn't good at it; Valar forbid that, after she had spent most of her life on the run. But it was that precise reason why she hated the activity in the first place.

In this particular situation, however, Saf was quite content to flee as the howls of the wargs drew nearer, and by the snarls and awful barking she could hear, she judged there to be about a dozen or so of the creatures – and that was excluding the orc riders upon their backs.

"Quickly!" Gandalf said, gesturing the Company after him as they sprinted across a fair golden plain, dotted here and there with large grey boulders that would provide sufficient enough cover for them, so long as they weren't seen or smelled.

This last part, of course, was all determinant on whether Radagast could successfully maneuver the orc pack away from the Company long enough for them to seek refuge…somewhere.

Saf recalled Gandalf saying something about journeying to Rivendell, and Kíli telling her that Thorin and the wizard had had a disagreement over stopping in an Elven place, but she had no idea what was going through the wizard's head as he led them through the plains, as this was alarmingly unfamiliar territory to her.

They came to a sudden halt behind one of the large boulders peppering the landscape, Gandalf holding his hand up to signal them to stop as thundering footfalls and vicious snarls could suddenly be heard, much closer than before.

Saf held her breath, flattening her back as close as possible to the rock and clutching her sword tightly in her hand as the orc pack raced by with Radagast leading in front on his rabbit-drawn sleigh. The pack was far too close for comfort for Saf, and she only breathed again when the last of the riders bounded after the Brown Wizard; she had not seen orcs or wargs for some years now, and she was not too keen on meeting any again, remembering only too well their rancid stench and gruesome intentions.

"Come!" Gandalf said, waving them after him once again, and they cautiously sprinted out from behind their cover, seeing the pack some ways down below the ridge they were currently running across.

Too soon, they had to take cover behind another boulder as Radagast whizzed past again, shouting challenges and insults at the pack as they pursued their target.

There was a sudden gasp from the front of the Company, and Saf looked quickly to see Ori lose his balance and stumble forward, out from behind the cover of the rock, just as the pack was passing.

"Ori, no!" Thorin hissed, before grabbing the younger dwarf by the back of his tunic and yanking him back under the relative protection of their boulder.

Saf swallowed, waiting for the pack to come charging at them after Ori's slip-up, but fortunately their growls were fading away slightly, and she switched her sword to her other hand, flexing her fingers after how tightly she had been holding the hilt as Thorin's voice sounded again from a few places ahead of her.

"Where are you leading us?" The king-in-exile was demanding in a low growl, glaring at the wizard as Gandalf pretended not to listen, instead only gesturing them after him with another wave of his hand.

Saf heard Thorin's teeth gnash together with an audible click after the wizard's avoidance, but he ran after them all the same as they continued their mad dash across the plains.

Saf found herself staring hard at Thorin's back as they ran, his earlier accusations from the trolls' forest still bouncing around in her skull despite their harrowing predicament.

She was obviously quite miffed, and angered by his insinuations of her betrayal, but all of that was currently being quelled by a new thought that was coming to the forefront of her mind.

First, there were the Watchers who had attacked Archet, and then the two she had seen patrolling the Great East Road the night before, and now, orcs and wargs were hunting the Company down. Somehow, Saf knew these events had to be connected, but how? The Watchers were for her, she presumed, but the orc pack, and Thorin's Company? There was something at play here, two different forces vying for the same position, yet it was impossible for her to put a finger on _why. _

"Thorin!" Fíli's panicked voice called, and Saf glanced over her shoulder to see the blond prince pointing at something in the distance. "We've been spotted!"

Saf's heart dipped in her chest, and she whipped her head around to see a warg bearing down on them from across the plain, a huge, nasty brute of an orc snarling upon its back as they ran down the Company.

"Faster!" Thorin ordered, and they obeyed, Saf feeling as if her legs were flying as she flat-out sprinted to the boulder Gandalf and Thorin were leading them to.

They reached the rock just as the ground began vibrating from the heavy footfalls of the warg, and Saf practically threw herself against the stone, her lungs burning intensely and her muscles shaking from exertion as she gripped her sword more securely in her sweaty hand, praying she wouldn't drop it and accidentally impale herself upon it the next time they ran.

The Company pressed themselves against the boulder, scarcely breathing as there was the sudden sound of claws scrabbling on stone as the warg hauled itself atop the boulder above them, growling low as the orc sniffed loudly, trying to catch their scent.

There was a movement from Saf's left, and she glanced to see Thorin gesturing with his head to Kíli, then his bow.

From next to Saf, the younger prince nodded in confirmation before pulling an arrow from his quiver slowly. He notched it to his string with a deep, slow breath, before propelling himself off the boulder and taking aim at the orc above him.

He let the arrow fly, and Saf looked up to see it sink into the orc's shoulder as the beast let out a bellowing roar, sending itself and its warg tumbling to the ground at their feet as Kíli nocked another arrow.

The orc got to its feet and charged at Kíli, raising a massive machete before Dwalin stepped in front of it and swung his axes, the orc's head decapitating as easily as butter and sending a spurt of black blood into the air that splattered across Saf's chest and most of the others in the vicinity.

"Ugh, seriously?" Saf grumbled, ignoring the stench and raising her sword to help with the warg as Bifur and Thorin both engaged it.

The screech of weapons and the warg's snarls were a cacophony of noise, and Saf knew they had alerted the rest of the pack as more howls drew closer. Cursing, she nimbly dodged both Bifur and Thorin, slicing her blade across the warg's muzzle before plunging the tip of her sword into its neck as it reared back, exposing its throat.

It died with a disgusting gurgle, and Saf turned back to the Company, flinging blood off her sword as she yelled, "The rest are coming! Run!"

There was no need to tell them twice. The Company took off again across the plains, and Saf fell into step behind them after exchanging an unreadable glance with Thorin, who ran ahead of her before she could say anything.

They dashed across the plains, the pack hot on their heels, and Saf chanced a glance over her shoulder to see them gaining, the lead orc close enough to where she could see its disgusting leer as its warg pounded over the grass.

"There they are!" Glóin called, and Saf couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the fiery-haired dwarf's warning.

_Thank you for pointing out that most _obvious _fact, _she found herself thinking. _I thought all of this running was just for the sake of staying in shape._

Her sarcastic musings were cut short, however, when she chanced another look and realized that the pack had split up, and now they were approaching on both of their flanks, effectively cutting off their access for escape.

"We're surrounded!" Dori cried, having realized what Saf had, and the Company came to a stop in front of a large spire of rock that jutted from the landscape, unsheathing weapons and forming a perimeter as if on some silent command.

Saf slipped into a place in between Ori and Kíli, standing close, but not overly so in the need of a fight – for she realized, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that there was no way they could get out of this unscathed.

They watched the pack slink closer, their circle tightening around the Company as they sat, penned like animals before the massive rock and the pack closing in on them.

Saf didn't think the situation could get any worse, as she quickly counted their odds – thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, a wizard, and her against a dozen orc riders and their wargs – but she was terribly mistaken, for just then Fíli cried out, "Where is Gandalf?"

Sparing a few seconds to look away from the orc and its warg that were prowling her down, she turned her head and scanned the Company quickly, realizing with a sickening shock that the Grey Wizard was nowhere to be found, indeed.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin growled, and though Saf didn't want to believe it, she had to accept the truth – Gandalf was gone.

Gritting her teeth, Saf turned back to the orc before her and twirled her blade menacingly, which only made the creature leer at her, its slimy black tongue poking forth to circle tauntingly around its scabbed lips, its cruel yellow eyes boring into her with the promise of violence and some sort of vindictive glee as she stared back, undaunted.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin's voice roared from behind her. "Kíli, shoot them! Now!"

Kíli obeyed, notching an arrow and firing it into the orc ranks, catching one in the throat and sending it sliding to the ground, dead, as its warg yapped, confused as what to do now.

Saf could not continue to watch it, however, for the orc that had been prowling closer was nearly upon them. Ori used his slingshot to fire a stone at the warg, but it bounced harmlessly off its snout and only caused it to snarl, creeping closer as the orc hissed out a rusty laugh.

"Behind me, Ori," Saf said calmly, and though the dwarf gave her a surprised look, he heeded her order and got behind her as she raised her sword, sending a silent challenge to the orc as the pack around them leaped, engaging the Company on all fronts as weapons clashed and terrible cries and yells rent the air.

The orc facing her leered again, raising its crude spear, before suddenly turning and charging for Kíli, his unprotected back facing the orc while he continued to shoot at the attacking swarm of wargs and their riders.

"Kíli!" Saf cried, throwing herself forward as the orc charged atop its warg, and Kíli turned quickly, notching another arrow, but Saf knew he would be too late.

With a gasp, she hurled herself in front of the warg and slashed her blade up, catching the orc off-guard as she went under its spear and sliced across its gut, hearing it shriek as its intestines bloomed from the open wound with a cascade of oily blood.

Saf had no time to watch the orc die, though, for just then an exploding pain ripped up her sword arm as the warg clamped down on her forearm, its canines piercing her flesh as she cried out, dropping her sword.

The warg bit deeper, and Saf reacted instinctively, knowing that if she didn't stop it, the warg would do serious damage to her muscles and nerves – if it didn't decide to rip her arm off entirely first.

Grabbing for a dagger at her waist with her free hand, she stabbed the blade up and plunged it into the side of the creature's neck, twisting it sharply so the warg let go with a pained yelp.

She ripped her arm free of its jaws and fell back, just as an arrow pierced through its eye and it fell, dead, at her feet.

"Saf, are you all right?" Kíli yelled, sprinting over to her as she clutched her arm, hissing in air through clenched teeth as blood began to soak the grass beneath her.

"I've been better," she grunted, flexing her fingers and finding to her relief that, despite being excruciatingly painful, all her muscles and nerves seemed to be performing functionally.

Kíli had no time to answer, for just then a thundering voice that was unmistakably Gandalf's bellowed, "This way, you fools!"

They both whirled to see Gandalf standing at the spire of rock, and they watched in bewilderment as Bilbo descended into some sort of hole beneath the wizard, the Company following closely behind as they realized the pack was too many.

"Do you need any help?" Kíli asked, and she shook her head as she got to her feet, wincing from the pain lancing up her arm.

"I can manage a short sprint," she said. "But if you could be a gentleman and get the lady's sword…?"

She gestured to Adûnabel, lying forgotten in the grass, and Kíli nodded quickly, scooping it up as the pack gave pursuit to the Company, and Saf figured they wouldn't have much time before they turned on them as the stragglers.

"We need to go," she said, and he nodded again, handing over her sword, which she took in her uninjured hand, wondering if she would even have the strength to use it; she was losing blood, and fast, and she needed to get to somewhere safe where she could patch herself up before she bled out entirely.

"C'mon," Kíli said, before placing a hand on the small of her back as they began to run for the spire of rock, Saf half-jogging, half-stumbling as they went, her leaden arm throwing her off-balance as blood continued to trickle down her fingertips.

They weren't even halfway there before the pack slowly began to turn in their direction, no doubt having smelled the stench of blood emanating from her, and she realized with a start that there was no way they were going to make it before they were overrun.

"Kíli," Saf said breathlessly. "Go on without me."

_"What?" _he hissed, as he traded his bow for his sword, watching the pack close in around them.

"I'm only slowing you down," she insisted, ignoring the dark glare he sent in her direction. "You can make it to the rock without me; go to your kin. They need you."

"If you think for a _second _that I'm leaving you to get torn apart by orcs, then you are horribly mistaken," he growled, brandishing his sword as the first warg neared, and Saf shook her head in frustration.

"So the Valar help me—" she snapped, but the rest of her sentence was cut off as suddenly a clear, piercing horn sounded on the air, echoing in the valley around them.

The pack stopped, orcs and wargs turning about, trying to determine where the sound was coming from, and Saf felt her blood chill as the horn sounded again, her heart sinking at the familiarity of it.

"What in Durin's name…" Kíli muttered, looking around wildly, and Saf used this opportunity to shove the prince in front of her, cradling her bleeding arm to her chest as he looked back to her in shock and some anger.

"Go," she grunted, as thundering hoof beats began to quake the ground beneath them. "I will be safe."

"Saf—" Kíli protested, but his voice died in his throat when about two dozen white horses came charging up the ridge of the valley, each equine carrying a silver-armored figure armed with swords, bows, and spears as they rode for the orc pack.

The orcs broke ranks immediately, squawking in fear and spurring their wargs away from the charging cavalry as they began to slay the beasts.

"Kíli, go now!" Saf yelled over the sudden sounds of battle, and she snarled when she saw the prince still hesitating.

She could feel her head beginning to swim, and her knees shook with the strain of holding her up, and she knew that she did _not _have the time for this.

"Please," she said, resorting to her last method as she sank to her knees, her vision going black around the edges, though she held Kíli's panicked and conflicted gaze. "Please, go."

After what felt like a century, Kíli finally yelled out a curse and turned away, and over the ringing in her ears Saf thought she heard him say, "Don't you _dare _die on me!" before he was gone.

Saf held her arm tighter to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to clear the fogginess out of her head, but it was no use; she was slipping into unconsciousness, and there was nothing she could do about it, not in her current position.

The last thing she was aware of was a pair of strong arms wrapping around her chest, before she was pulled up and away into darkness.

* * *

**TA 2930**

She slipped quietly through the dark, winding streets of Minas Tirith, keeping her head low beneath her hood and her footsteps quick as she hugged the walls of the buildings hedging her on either side.

For the City of Kings, one would imagine this place to be nigh impenetrable, but all it had taken Saf was a few coins and a silk caravan and she was in – though where she was to go from here, she had no idea.

She had spent the last thirty-five years roaming the vast lands of Eriador, and had finally decided to move on from all the small villages and wilderness she was inclined to inhabit and take a chance with arguably the most powerful city in the realm, despite no king having been crowned for many years.

Here also was her legacy, she presumed, but that was another matter entirely that she did not want to deal with. So her strategy so far was to keep low and stay out of things that didn't concern her until she could find a room and perhaps a job, according to how long she wanted to stay for.

Of course, staying low was an option fortune never kindly bestowed on her, so it was only with some small degree of surprise and a majority of resign she felt when a rough hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder and shoved her up against the wall, her cheek chafing on the stone as she reached for the dagger at her belt before that hand was pinned, as well.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that pushing ladies up against walls in the dead of night was something decent humans never did?" she asked, her voice muffled by the wall, but the hand spun her around roughly before pushing her back against the stone, the fingers pressed up beneath her jaw now.

Oddly, her attacker was not cloaked in the slightest as she was brought face-to-face with him, and Saf wondered if he was so arrogant to think he didn't need to hide behind anything as she studied his features quickly.

She deemed her notion of arrogance correct in less than a second, taking in the man's confident smirk and cold green eyes, sparking with a hint of mirth. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a defined jaw, complete with sweeping dark hair that fell over the pale skin of his forehead, and Saf was disgusted at herself for finding him attractive as his smirk deepened.

"Ladies I have the utmost respect for," he replied easily, and Saf tried to ignore how nice his voice sounded, slow and smooth, like cream. She automatically tensed, however, when the hand that had been pinning her wrist traveled down to her fingers, pulling her gloved hand between them and holding it up so the silver surface of her ring caught the faint moonlight from above.

"But Rangers," he continued, smoothing one long finger over her ring, "are another matter entirely."

"And why is that?" Saf asked, watching the man study her ring thoughtfully, before he looked up again, his face alarmingly close to hers.

He shrugged slightly, gazing into her eyes steadily as she felt heat begin to creep into her face, wondering what this man was trying to get out of her.

"Many of them aren't trustworthy," he replied evenly. "And as a protector of this city, it is my job to know whether you can be trusted here."

Saf jerked her hand out of his grasp then, sliding her fingers toward her daggers as she said coldly, "As if a vigilante has any right to determine a man's honor to begin with."

The man merely smiled, still holding her gaze as he said abruptly, "Can I trust you?"

Saf blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in his approach. "What?"

"Can I trust you?" he repeated patiently, his green eyes still searching hers, and she hesitated before nodding slowly.

"I forsook the title of Ranger long ago," she said cautiously. "All I want is to have a life of peace."

The man nodded again, before reaching up and casting back her hood, and Saf felt her face heat again as he studied her, feeling as if his eyes were seeing a lot more than just her face as he looked, before finally nodding curtly.

"Well," he said, before he released her and backed away a few steps, Saf exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, strangely aware of how cold the night was again once his proximity was gone. "I'll be in touch soon, then, love."

Then he turned and began walking down the street, in the opposite direction Saf had been traveling in, leaving her standing, alone and utterly confused, against the wall.

"Oh, and one more thing," the man said, turning back around and fixing her with his piercing eyes. "My name is Garem, for the next time we meet."

He winked at her as she stared, not exactly sure what any of this was meaning before he slipped away into the shadows, his voice calling out one last time.

"I hope you'll remember me."

* * *

**Present Day – TA 2941**

Saf jerked awake, a pair of glittering green eyes flashing across her vision before they were gone, taking the remnants of the memory with it.

She waited for her heart rate to calm before sitting up, immediately grasping for her forearm as it throbbed spectacularly, her fingers grazing only gauze and bandages as she took in her surroundings.

She was currently situated in a small but comfortable cot, propped up by many fluffy pillows and covered with a light but warm blanket. Her clothes were gone, she noticed with some alarm, and she was dressed in only a plain white shift, her arms left bare to accommodate the swath of bandages wrapped around her right one.

She was in some sort of healing house, she presumed, and her heart sank, suddenly knowing exactly where she was, even if she had rarely ever needed to venture to the healing house herself.

_"Mae athollen, gornil," _a melodious voice said, and Saf sighed heavily upon hearing it, knowing who was speaking all too well. _"Glass nín le gen achened."_

Saf slowly turned to look at the speaker, swallowing tightly when she recognized the dark-haired elf before her, his features stern but beautiful, and his dark eyes wise and unreadable as he stared at her evenly, his lips curling faintly in a smile.

_"Hîr nín Elrond," _Saf replied slowly, her Elvish not as good as it once was as she stared back at the Elven-lord. _"Anann le gen ú-gennin."_

"Seven years, it would be," he said, reverting back to Common as he clasped his fair hands before him, holding her gaze as he raised a fine brow. "I must say, though, I did not expect your return to involve so much…"

He trailed off, and Saf arched a brow.

"Excitement? Drama?" she offered, and the Elven-lord pursed his lips.

"Mystery," he said finally, and Saf guessed he had run into Gandalf and the Company already as she winced.

"Ah," she said. "So Gandalf told you?"

Elrond stared at her impassively, his lips turning down in a frown now (Saf had always marveled at the Elven-lord's ability to smile or frown while not actually doing so – she had never once seen him use anything other than the corners of his lips to express his emotions; that, and his eyebrows, she guessed).

"Mithrandir has yet to tell me anything, and I sense that he is reluctant to," Elrond said, staring out the latticed window behind him as his frown deepened. "Whatever he is doing with those dwarves will remain a secret, I fear, where the Grey Wizard is concerned. Gandalf has always been known to do things his own way."

Saf said nothing, merely fiddling with a loose piece of fabric on the blanket, wondering what the Elven-lord wanted from her.

When he said nothing, she took a deep breath before saying, "Um, thank you, by the way. For, you know, patching me up."

She raised her bandaged arm half-heartedly, and Elrond turned back to her with raised brows.

"A healer by the name of Feros was the one to heal your arm," he said. "The wounds were deep, but not enough to do any serious damage. Out of the seven puncture wounds, only three needed to be sutured; the rest were merely cleansed and wrapped."

He gestured to her swathed arm, and she nodded thoughtfully.

"When next you see him, please pass on my thanks to the healer," she said, and Elrond only accepted this with a curt nod before turning back to the window.

Saf winced, the tension in the room building with each passing minute, yet still Elrond said nothing.

She sighed, placing her hands in her lap before saying in resign, "My Lord…"

"I did not expect to see you in this valley again," the Elven-lord said, cutting her off, and Saf flinched at how flat his voice was.

"After fleeing in the dead of night, with naught a word but three letters left behind, I accepted your decision and did not question it, despite your family asking me for answers I did not have, as to where you went, or why you had left."

He turned to face her again, his expression somber, and his dark eyes bored into her with an intensity that made a shiver go down her spine.

"They were devastated, Safavael," he said quietly, and Saf could feel the guilt churning in her stomach, hot and heavy, at this point. "And I feared for your safety and your fate as much as them."

"I had no choice," she said, dropping her head as tears stung her eyes, and she spoke directly into her lap as she continued, "I had done…terrible things. I did not want them to become a part of that, for my deeds…to stain their memories, should they ever catch up to me. I did it to protect them."

Elrond remained silent, and Saf fought to get her emotions under control. She had always had the intention of returning to the House of Elrond, to Rivendell, but never did she expect it to be under these circumstances; injured and in tears, sitting under Elrond's indecipherable gaze as he questioned her disappearance from so many years before.

After a few minutes, there was a soft rustle, and Saf looked up to see Elrond grace over to her bedside, sitting down by her feet in a flutter of golden robes, hesitantly taking her hands in his own, being careful not to jostle her arm too much.

He stared down at her hands for a moment, not speaking, before he looked back up to her with his solemn gaze.

"I do not know of these deeds you speak, and I have never asked you to tell me unless you were ready," he said quietly. "But you were under my care for a time, as well, and I felt partly responsible for your disappearance."

He paused, and Saf listened closely, discreetly drying her tears on the shoulder of her shift as he continued.

"It is a matter of the past, and I deem it wise to leave it there," he said, before suddenly smiling slightly. "But it is good to see you again, Safavael Tinnuhiril."

"As it is you, Lord Elrond," she said quietly, and he patted her uninjured hand with a feather-light touch before getting to his feet once more.

"Dinner will be served in the twilight pavilion in an hour," he said, his regal air returning once more, and Saf made a face, knowing what that entitled. "Your, er…companions, will be there, and your family, as well. Even if you made only a brief appearance, I think that would set everyone's minds at ease."

Saf leaned back against her pillows, grimacing. "I'll think about it."

Elrond gave her a dry look, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll go."

He smirked, looking amused as he breezed over to the door.

"I will send some maids to help you prepare," he said, opening the door before stopping on the threshold. "And do try to be on time for once."

"No promises," Saf grumbled, before the door shut and the Elven-lord was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her guilt as she tried to figure out a way to get out of this mess.

Unfortunately for her, her life had just gotten a _lot _more complicated.

* * *

Thorin twirled the silver fork in his fingers thoughtfully, debating on whether sitting through a dinner with a high and mighty Elven-lord or stabbing the utensil in his eye would be more painful.

He was disgruntled, to put it nicely, to find out that after everything they had faced within the past two days alone, the wizard had had the audacity to go directly against his wishes and seek refuge with _elves_, out of all other entities in this world. By this point, he was almost willing to take the trolls over being trapped in this place.

Of course, that was only the thinking of a petulant child. Though reluctant to admit it, he was actually grateful for the brief respite in Rivendell; they had had some very near brushes with death recently, and he knew the Company needed a well-deserved rest.

However, Thorin's mind was not as idle as his body. Despite being wound tight from the proximity of his enemies, his thoughts kept drifting back to the woman that had imposed herself on his Company once again, despite parting ways before.

He had heard from Kíli in the tunnels on the way here that she had told him to leave her before passing out, but before his nephew could go back to her she had been lifted on to a horse and carried away from the rock they had all been in.

This had raised several questions and concerns from the others, but when they had reached Rivendell and Gandalf had spoken to Lord Elrond he informed them that she had been taken here, and was recovering in the healing house.

Kíli had also told them about how she had jumped in front of a warg and its orc rider to save him from being killed, and that the warg had bitten her after she had dealt with the orc, and though Thorin's suspicions could hardly be quelled, he did have time to ponder on her actions.

Why would she have tried to save his nephew's life? There was no one else who would have betrayed him besides her, but even his own accusations of her loyalty were sounding more and more feeble. Perhaps the attack by the warg was to make her look more convincing, to earn Thorin's trust… but for what? She had made her intentions very clear that she wanted no part in the Company. So what would her purpose of betrayal be?

Thorin shook his head, his thoughts running so fast he could barely keep up with them, and he downed a large gulp of the Elven wine before him, immediately puckering his lips at the sour taste, though the alcohol helped clear his mind some.

He sat back in his chair, scowling at how high-backed it was compared to his shorter frame, drumming his fingers on the fine-clothed table as he looked around the pavilion they had been led to for dinner, after having been shown first to the bathhouses (which Thorin was grudgingly grateful for).

The pavilion was spacious and round, made of the same ivory and grey stone the rest of the Homely House seemed to be built of, with statues depicting fair elf-maidens and warriors circling the edges, though leaving the far side clear so as to give an unrestrained view to the valley beyond, with its high cliff-faces and floating waterfalls gilded in gold from the light of the setting sun.

There were only three tables set, with elves playing flutes, lyres, and harps around them – two for the Company down below in the pavilion, and one high table where Thorin was sat some steps above them, the only other person accompanying him so far being Gandalf, who hummed along serenely to the shimmering music playing around the pavilion, the other four seats vacant.

"I apologize for the wait, my friends," Lord Elrond said, sweeping suddenly into the pavilion with a swish of golden robes, the circlet upon his head gleaming with the last of the rays from the sun, giving him an unearthly appearance as he came to the table.

Gandalf waved the Elven-lord off while Thorin grunted low in his throat, his stomach beginning to rumble for food.

Elrond looked amused, before gesturing with a slender hand behind him and saying, "May I introduce some of my guests?"

Thorin looked around the Elven-lord and raised his eyebrows as a human woman stepped into view, an uneasy feeling settling quickly in his gut as he studied her.

She was tall and willowy, with a proud set to her shoulders as she ascended the stairs calmly, a gown of deepest red billowing around her, giving a regal air to her, and Thorin had to wonder if she was royalty as he took in her strong jaw, dark, calculating gaze, and elegant features underneath an up-do of dark curls.

The uneasy feeling did not leave Thorin, even when the woman smiled and embraced Gandalf dearly, her features turning quite warm at the gesture as she said, "Mithrandir! It has been a long time, my friend."

"Indeed, my Lady," Gandalf said jovially, clasping her hands before she turned her gaze to Thorin.

"Thorin Oakenshield, this is the Lady Gilraen," Elrond said, stepping up beside her as Thorin rose from his seat, inclining his head.

"Well met, Lady Gilraen," he rumbled lowly, and the woman bowed back to him.

"And you, Master Oakenshield," she replied, fixing him with an unsettlingly piercing gaze that was quite familiar, before it suddenly hit him why he thought her unnerving – she was an exact image of the barmaid, Saf.

Thorin felt his fingers chill, wondering what this could mean, before he was distracted by Elrond saying, "And this is Estel, Gilraen's son."

A boy of about ten winters had come bounding into the pavilion just then, dark curls framing his fair face, so like his mother's, yet even more unnervingly like Saf's, as he had the same grey eyes as hers, if only a few shades lighter.

After greeting Gandalf, the boy turned to Thorin and bowed, saying in a solemn voice that was somehow fitting on him, "Well met, Master Oakenshield. I'm Estel."

Thorin couldn't help the small smile that twitched at his lips; it was strange for a boy so young to be so serious, but it reminded him of himself some as he said, "Well met, little one."

With introductions aside, those at the high table took their places, with Gandalf and Thorin on one side and Gilraen and Estel on the other. Elrond sat at the head, his lackey Thorin remembered from earlier as Lindir standing stoically behind him, leaving the other seat opposite the Elven-lord empty, which Thorin was beginning to wonder was a mistake, as it seemed no other people were coming as servants began to bring out the dinner.

As Thorin watched in dismay at the greenery and bread being passed around, he vaguely heard Gandalf saying from his left, "Kind of you to invite us to join for dinner. I must say, though, I am not quite dressed for the occasion."

"Well, you never are," Elrond said dryly, and Thorin grimaced when a bowl of salad was placed in front of him, no sign of meat anywhere, he noticed with some resign.

Small talk ensued at the table from then, Thorin only occasionally nodding and grumbling in agreement as he picked at his food, his stomach begging for anything other than this, and he had to wonder how elves could possibly live on the diet of a rabbit as he shoveled around the greens in his bowl.

It didn't help that the topics of conversation were as boring as one of his council meetings back in Ered Luin; the only interesting thing Thorin had heard was when they talked of Estel's swordplay, which had led to a twenty minute discussion between the king-in-exile and the boy debating on the best swords and their fighting styles, and how many battles Thorin had seen so far.

"Speaking of swords," Gandalf broke in, taking advantage of the silence Estel had fallen into as he stared at Thorin in awe, the dwarf having just recounted the Battle of Azanulbizar to him, and the two both looked over to the wizard grudgingly as he removed the sword he had taken from the troll hoard at his waist and passed it to Elrond. "I was hoping you would be able to tell us the origins of these."

He gestured for Thorin's blade, as well, and he unsheathed it from his waist and placed it in his lap, waiting as Elrond examined Gandalf's blade with thinly veiled interest and surprise.

"This is Glamdring," the Elven-lord said finally. "The Foehammer, made for the King of Gondolin in the First Age."

At his request, Thorin handed over his own blade, and he saw Elrond's eyebrows arch higher as he said, "And this is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver. Forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin."

As he handed back over the sword, he fixed the two with a sharp gaze, saying, "How did you come by these?"

"We found them in a troll hoard, on the Great East Road," Gandalf said, and Thorin shot the wizard a look that he ignored.

"A troll hoard?" Gilraen said, looking concerned. "However did they end up there?"

"An apt question," Elrond agreed. "And what were you doing on the Great East Road, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf opened his mouth, and Thorin grit his teeth, but he never had the chance to answer, for suddenly there was a clattering of dishes from the dwarves below, and they all turned to see Bofur climbing atop a pedestal set in the center of the pavilion, raising his arms in a gesture of grandeur before launching into a rowdy drinking song popular in the Blue Mountains.

The other dwarves quickly joined in, beginning to throw around their food at each other, and Thorin grinned to himself, sneaking a glance at his table and stifling a snicker as he saw Elrond and Gilraen frozen in their seats, while Gandalf continued to eat beside him and Estel looked on with childish glee, his eyes shining at the sudden chaos.

Thorin's grin faded quickly, though, when he looked over Elrond's shoulder and noticed a familiar figure lurking in the shadows of the hallway leading out onto the pavilion.

"Excuse me," he said abruptly, getting to his feet and edging out of the pavilion, though he was certain no one had noticed him leave, everyone too focused on the disaster happening to do much else.

Thorin stepped into the hallway, his eyes instantly seeking out the figure of the barmaid as she stood halfway behind a vine-wrapped pillar, her eyebrows furrowed and her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she gazed into the pavilion, not having noticed him yet.

She looked vastly different from the last time Thorin had seen her; earlier, she had been covered in orc blood and grime, wearing simple traveling clothes with her pinned hair in disheveled array about her sweat-streaked face.

Now she was wearing a pale blue gown that draped over her slim frame, and Thorin wondered if the woman ever ate as he examined how small she really was, though what took him aback the most was her hair; no longer pinned up, it hung in wild black curls down to her waist, and he realized now why she must wear it up at all times – hair that long was undoubtedly impractical at that point.

Thorin cleared his throat, and she spun around in surprise, her eyes widening, and then narrowing upon realizing who he was.

When she said nothing, Thorin inclined his head to the pavilion, saying, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. Dwarves can be…rowdy when provoked."

She quirked a brow, the rest of her expression carefully neutral. "You don't say."

There was a crackling silence between them as she looked back to the pavilion, and Thorin debated on whether he wanted to speak with her about earlier, before he followed her gaze and found it fixed upon Gilraen and Estel, who sat with their backs to them as the revelry continued.

"That woman," Thorin said slowly, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction, but when only the corners of her eyes tightened, he continued, saying, "She is the spitting image of you. Who is she?"

"A very old friend," she said stiffly, and Thorin had to refrain from scoffing.

"Is she your mother?" he pressed, and this time, her nostrils flared angrily, a dark look passing over her features before they became blank once more.

"No," she growled, her voice tight. "I wouldn't bestow that accursed title on anyone."

Thorin's brows rose in shock at her words, but he thought it prudent not to press her any further on the matter for the time being, deciding to change topics.

He cleared his throat once again, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as he said, "I wish to discuss my earlier words with you. I have been thinking, and—"

"Another time," she interrupted, her eyes still dark as she stared into the pavilion, and Thorin saw something almost wild in her eyes, like a caged animal terrified of its bars before she looked away. "I think I've had quite enough excitement for one day."

And without a backward glance, she turned and whisked away, leaving Thorin alone in the twilight shadows as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon.

* * *

_Mae athollen _\- (Sindarin); "Welcome back"

_Gornil_ \- (Sindarin); "Valiant one"

_Glass nín le gen achened _\- (Sindarin); "It is my joy to see you again"

_Hîr nín Elrond - _(Sindarin); "My Lord Elrond"

_Anann le gen ú-gennin - _(Sindarin); "I haven't seen you for a long time"

**So, thoughts? Some new characters were introduced in this chapter, like Garem...oh, Garem - good or bad? Some of Saf's past will be revealed during their stay in Rivendell, as well, so I hope y'all are looking forward to figuring out the first part of the mystery...**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback!**


	10. 10: Strangers in Passing

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Sorry for the long wait, but here is Chapter Ten! **

**Thank you to everyone who has favorited/followed this story, and many thanks to my reviewers from last time: ChizomenoHime, Vanafindiel, lindir's gaze, Stardust67, and Guest!**

* * *

Chapter Ten: Strangers in Passing

_Her eyes were wide with panic, and a grief that seemed to cry out with a thousand voices, a chorus that had by now become a thunderous toll in her head as the woman clutched at her sleeve –_

_ "Please," she choked. "Help me save my son – your kin. Please, Ancalimë—"_

Saf fisted her hands in her skirts, taking deep breaths to calm herself as the memories threatened to resurface, shutting her eyes against the strained, shrill voice echoing through her eardrums.

The night was quiet, save for the distant roaring of the falls delving into the valley, and the chirps of insects around her as she sat in a secluded corner of one of the many gardens of Rivendell. She remembered this place well, for she had come here often during her stay, to sort out her thoughts and contemplate her life. Tonight, though, she was doing far too much of that.

She sighed, smoothing out her skirts from where her hands had clenched the silk, breathing in the balmy night air and enjoying the serenity of the elven realm. She had not been as enchanted by the valley as her family had been, preferring the true wild instead, but still; it was a nice change in pace, after the exhausting few days she had had.

Of course, her peace did not last as long as she would have liked, for just then there was a rustling of leaves from behind her, and the soft swish of fabric ghosting over the ground as a figure rounded the corner to find her seated on the bench, looking forward resolutely.

"I'm quite disappointed to admit that this is the second place I've looked for you in," an amused voice said, rich and feminine, and Saf winced, still not daring to turn around.

"I checked the library before coming here," Gilraen continued nonchalantly, and Saf sensed her coming nearer. "I remember how much you loved it in there, surrounded by all those books of the world; though I imagine it was quite tame for you, as you've seen the real thing for yourself."

Saf swallowed, forcing herself to look up and meet the kind yet stern gaze of the familiar woman.

_"Naneth nîn," _she said tightly, and Gilraen only raised a slender brow.

"It's been a while, my niece," the other woman said, and Saf felt her face flush, hearing the undercurrent of accusation beneath her neutral tone. "Tell me, how fares my sister's daughter?"

"Honestly?" Saf said. "I'm terrified."

Gilraen let out a little laugh, taking a seat next to Saf on the bench as the younger woman stiffened.

"My dear, you have no need to be frightened of me," Gilraen chided, but the steel in her grey eyes told Saf otherwise. "I merely came to speak with you, after all these years of you being gone."

Saf shifted uncomfortably. "And that's why I'm afraid," she admitted awkwardly, and her aunt sighed.

"Do you honestly expect me to be angry with you?" she asked bemusedly, and Saf shrugged.

"Angry, no," she said. "But I know you have many questions, and I know that you know I cannot answer all of them."

"Cannot, or will not?" Gilraen asked, and her steel eyes were sharp, probing, searching for any signs of verisimilitude in her gaze.

"That question you definitely already have an answer to," Saf said wryly, and Gilraen looked back to the finely manicured hedges and glowing flora around them, her expression pinching.

"I don't think you realize the magnitude your departure had, Safavael," she said finally, and her tone was terse, clipped. "Estel was heartbroken. He used to sit for hours by the waterfall you would take him to play in, always telling me that you were going to come back, that you'd pop right out of the falls like you always did, pretending to be a water spirit come to make him the Prince of the Sea."

Saf listened, her heart thumping painfully, as Gilraen's lower lip quivered, and she guessed that her aunt had been holding back these words for far too long, had buried them deep in the uncertainty that Saf would ever come back, and the thought made her feel more wretched than before.

"I was so worried about you," Gilraen continued quietly. "I-I thought I had failed you, that I had driven you away out of my own selfish need to protect Estel at all costs. My sister's daughter, abandoned by the only family that should have been there for her."

She reached out a tentative hand, as if to touch Saf's cheek, before dropping it back to her lap, a single tear tracing its way down her pale skin.

Saf swallowed past the hot lump in her throat, guilt and remorse seeming to build up inside of her, but she forced herself to speak.

"I do not blame you for your choices," she said. "You were only saving your son's life, and I cannot condemn you for that. Estel is the only hope for our people; I wouldn't have wanted to leave you both to fates that were not yours."

"And I am grateful to you for that," Gilraen said, seeming to regain some of her composure as she wiped away the few tears she had let escape. "You were so strong, and so brave, and I still think of what would have happened had you not helped us escape."

She shuddered, before looking at Saf once more and gracing her with a tight but gentle smile. "You were so like your mother. It still amazes me, even more so now just looking at you, how much the two of you are alike. Like the same petals spawned from a beautiful rose."

Saf's face twitched at this, and the well of emotions that cropped up any time Nadagréil was mentioned began to stir: anger, sorrow, betrayal, anger, sorrow, betrayal…

"My mother was a coward," she choked out, and Gilraen frowned.

"Your mother was courageous," she said firmly, and Saf let out a bitter laugh.

"If she was so brave, then why did she leave?" she spat. "Why did she take off into the wild with naught a trace, no goodbye save for the bow left at the foot of my bed? Why did she flee like a thief in the night, leaving our people under the guidance of a madman, leaving her only living child at the hands of a father who saw her more a soldier than his own flesh and blood?"

Saf's voice had raised considerably by the end, and she breathed in shallow, ragged breaths, tears stinging the corners of her eyes as everything she was feeling burst forth like a dam.

"Oh, my dear," Gilraen whispered, and she pulled Saf's head into her lap, stroking her hair soothingly as Saf choked on her own tears.

Gilraen's touch was like a blessing and a curse at the same time, comforting and tender, but Saf was viciously reminded once more of the mother who had abandoned her – what would her life have been, if Nadagréil was the one in Gilraen's place instead?

"Why did she leave me?" Saf whispered, and she cringed at how small her voice was, how sad and mewling she must seem in that moment, but Gilraen only continued to smooth her hair, not seeming to notice.

"She did what she thought best," she said. "After what your father did to your half-brother…"

"That's still not good enough," Saf said angrily. "She could have taken me with her, she could have stayed and stood up to my father. She didn't have to run away. She didn't have to leave me behind."

"There are many things she could have done differently," Gilraen agreed. "But she made her choice in life, just as you have made yours. Do not forget that she loved you, Safavael. She loved you deeply. But you were young, barely out of adolescence – you hadn't even made your first weapon yet! She did not want to risk losing you in the wild, to bear the agony of a grieving mother who had failed to protect her child from the world and all the dangers it possessed. She made her choice out of love and necessity, not from a lack of compassion or cowardice."

Saf could not find the words to say to this, though the tears kept flowing and her sense of betrayal did not lessen. The anger, maybe the anger, had dissipated some, but Saf knew she could never truly forgive her mother. Not after what Halluin had made her do, not after what he had driven her to.

They stayed in silence for a long time, until Saf's tears had receded and the ones that had escaped her eyes had dried, leaving her face sticky and blotchy, though she was hardly one to care. Gilraen had begun to hum a small tune in the meantime, one that Saf recognized as a Númenórean lullaby, and after a few moments of collecting herself, she spoke again.

"I am sorry for not staying with you and Estel," she said, and her voice came out hoarse and scratchy. "I did not think my presence would be so dearly missed."

"You had your reasons," Gilraen said simply. "I have always known that, but still, I had liked to imagine myself with answers to those reasons one day. But I will not pry. Your life is yours, and you can choose to live it any way you want, Valar be willing."

Saf nodded her head in her lap, before sniffing hard and sitting up, her head swimming from the blood and thoughts rushing to her brain.

"I am curious, however, on how you came to be in Rivendell once more," she said, and Saf felt her shoulders slump; when it came to her aunt, one question was always a façade for a dozen more, and though she should have expected this, Saf still resigned herself to speak anyway. "I mean, you come bursting in with Lord Elrond's cavalry, all mangled up and soaked with blood, and then shortly after come trotting this troupe of dwarves, led by a king-in-exile and trailed by a halfling and a wizard." She turned and raised a wondering brow at Saf. "Care to elaborate?"

"They were passing through the village I had taken residence in," Saf began grudgingly. "Before they could leave, we were attacked by bandits, and I helped them escape the town."

She avoided mentioning her involvement with Gandalf and the debt she owed him, but her aunt was still staring at her questioningly, so she continued.

"I led them through the wild, keeping away from the Great East Road, and just when I was about to take my leave, the blundering oafs had to be taken captive by trolls and almost eaten, before we narrowly managed to escape with a little help thanks to the ingenuity of myself. Then the wargs and the orcs gave chase, and then…here we are."

She shrugged half-heartedly as the older woman stared at her as if she had some bizarre growth on her face.

"Quite a tale," she said finally. "Though I sense a lot of holes in the plot."

She looked at Saf shrewdly, and the younger woman shrugged again, conveying that she wasn't going to say more as Gilraen sighed.

"Very well, keep your secrets," she said amusedly. "Though I must say, you snagging a king is very enthralling, indeed."

She looked at Saf with a wicked glint in her eye as she stared back, confused. What was she…?

Then Saf flashed back to dinner earlier, when she had fled the pavilion with her tail between her legs, not daring to show her face yet, and Thorin Oakenshield had confronted her in the hallway, wanting to know why she and Gilraen looked so similar, and something about wanting to speak with her about accusing her of being a traitor…

So much for being discreet, then.

Her teeth clenched at the reminder of Thorin's accusation, but she downright scowled when she saw the grin her aunt was giving her, irked that she would even suggest such a thing.

"I did not _snag _Thorin Oakenshield," she snapped. "In fact, I think he is much more a pesky insect than a king, and he holds me much in the same contempt."

Gilraen shrugged, still looking skeptical, which only served to irritate her further.

"Whatever you say, my dear," she said airily. "Though I have never seen a man jump out of his seat and move so quickly to talk to a woman such as he did in my lifetime."

"Then you must be younger than you appear," Saf said drily, and Gilraen smacked her on the arm playfully, making Saf grin.

"You cheeky devil," her aunt said teasingly. "You should know that I barely look a day over eighty as it is."

They both chuckled at this, before Gilraen pulled her into a one-armed hug, Saf resting her head atop her aunt's black curls, so like her own, and her mother's.

She gave a deep sigh, speaking into Saf's shoulder. "Estel should be asleep by now," she mused. "I have yet to tell him that you have returned, but no doubt he will find out soon enough."

"I will make a point of it to see him tomorrow," she said. "I look forward to seeing him again; he's grown up so much since last I saw him."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe," her aunt said, and she could sense the older woman rolling her eyes dramatically. "He thinks he's invincible now, just because they've deemed him old enough to start handling a proper blade."

Saf grinned to herself, remembering when she was a child and she had watched her older half-brother, Iorhael, begin his first swordplay lessons, and how much he had liked to lord over her the fact that he was training to fight and she wasn't, though he had never found out that she would steal his sword every night he went to bed so she could practice by herself.

Her heart twinged painfully when she recalled Iorhael, so instead she focused back on the night around her, listening to the wind blow through the leaves and watching the moonlight ripple and sway at her feet, as if inviting her to join the dance of the stars.

* * *

"I don't see why we all have to go with you for the sake of reading a map," Kíli said, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes after Thorin had unceremoniously kicked him awake from his place by the fire set up in the dwarves' camp. "I mean, surely Balin and Dwalin would be enough moral support, as they are your closest advisers—"

"Yes, and you are my heirs," Thorin reminded his youngest nephew, sighing out his nose as Fíli rolled his eyes from beside him. "Which means you are to follow my example when it comes to important matters, and not complain while doing so."

He gave Kíli a pointed look at this, and the dark-haired dwarf had the audacity to give his uncle his signature cheeky grin, which only served to make Thorin shake his head in exasperation, knowing Kíli meant well, despite his immaturity at times.

"Where in blazes is this place?" Balin piped up, as the group continued to wander aimlessly around the halls of the Last Homely House, struggling to remember the directions Gandalf had given them to get to the library, though it was proved nearly impossible as they passed by a tapestry of an elf hunting a doe, one Thorin was sure he had seen three times now.

"I think he may have said something about turning right at the fork in the third house, not left," Fíli said, though he sounded uncertain as they came to the very same fork.

"No, it was definitely left," Dwalin said, scratching his bushy beard assertively, though Thorin could tell he was as hopelessly lost as the rest of them.

"Perhaps we should try asking for help?" Balin suggested, fixing them with a stern eye as they all looked to him incredulously. "We're never going to get to the meeting on time if we keep wandering around like a lot of stray puppies," he chided, and Thorin frowned, knowing he was right, yet the thought of asking any elves for help made his stomach knot angrily.

"Are you in need of assistance?" a high, melodious voice chimed in, and the dwarves turned to see a very tall, very slender elf with golden hair standing behind them, gazing at them with bright eyes that held a trace of amusement, something Thorin did not like at all.

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind—" Balin began, at the same time Thorin said, "No."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, in which everyone looked between the two dwarves and the elf, before the elf finally shrugged, looking wholly unconcerned.

"So be it," he said, before beginning to drift off. Balin shot Thorin a look, and he scowled, shaking his head, until Balin eyed him shrewdly, like a dwarfling being caught doing something he shouldn't have, and Thorin grunted, flapping a hand impatiently.

"Wait!" Balin called, and the elf halted, turning gracefully to face them and raising a slender brow. "You wouldn't happen to know how to reach the library by chance, would you?"

The elf studied them for a moment, raking them over with eyes so blue they appeared clear, before sweeping in front of them and beckoning to them with a long-fingered hand.

"Come," the elf said, and after exchanging glances, the dwarves grudgingly followed, walking fast to keep up with the elf's longer stride.

"Do you reckon this one's a male or a female?" Kíli asked after a few minutes of silent walking, before he let out a grunt as Fíli elbowed him in the ribs.

"Keep your voice down, you dolt!" he hissed, as Kíli rubbed his ribcage dramatically.

"It's an innocent question!" Kíli protested. "It's just so hard to tell without facial hair; they all look the same!"

"Both of you will be quiet," Thorin snapped, staring hard at the elf's back as they continued down the eerily quiet hallways and paths of the elven house. "We have more important things to discuss than the gender-identifying methods of elves."

"My name is Glorfindel," the elf said unexpectedly, and the dwarves all looked up to see the elf glancing back at them over his shoulder, his expression plainly amused. "And to answer your question, Master Dwarf, I am a male."

He directed this last part at Kíli, and the dark-haired dwarf flushed, avoiding the stares of his companions as they all turned to look at him.

"Good to know, thanks," he said to the elf, and Glorfindel cracked a small smile, gesturing for them to keep following as they crossed a bridge arching over a small waterfall.

They traveled for a few more minutes in silence, before Glorfindel spoke up, Thorin already wishing he would stop talking even before his sentence was finished.

"You are the dwarves who traveled with the Lady Tinnuhiril, are you not?" he asked, and the dwarves looked to each other in confusion.

"You mean Saf?" Fíli said, and Thorin's jaw involuntarily twitched at the mention of the barmaid.

"If that is what you call her, then yes, I mean Saf," he said bemusedly, and Thorin wondered if the elf could feel the heat of his stare upon his back yet.

"Why do you call her 'Tinnuhiril?'" Kíli asked, completely butchering the elven word, though Glorfindel did not bother to correct him.

"When she lived here for a time, it was natural to see her only wandering around nightfall," he replied. "Thus, we gave her the name 'lady of twilight,' which is Tinnuhiril in our tongue."

The dwarves all looked to each other with shock and some varying degrees of bewilderment, and whatever suspicion Thorin held against the woman, it increased tenfold at the elf's words.

Before they could berate the elf with questions, Glorfindel came to a stop outside of an exquisite ivory and beechwood structure, open to the night sky and allowing moonlight to stream into the building, much like everything else they had seen in Rivendell so far.

"Here is the library," he announced, gesturing to the open doorway before them. "And this is where I shall take my leave. Enjoy your stay in Imladris, my friends."

And before anyone could give so much as thanks, the elf had already whisked away, his flaxen hair flowing softly before he was gone.

Exchanging looks once more, Thorin led the way into the library, greeted by the sight of bookshelves stacked to the ceiling, filled with tomes both large and small, and the scent of ink and paper.

He heard the murmuring of voices off to his left, and he turned to see Elrond and Gandalf conversing quietly, both looking like specters in the wash of the moon, and, oddly, Bilbo Baggins was standing awkwardly off to the side of them, looking comically out of place, and Thorin felt a flash of irritation with the wizard for bringing the burglar along when he did not belong here in this meeting.

Swallowing his annoyance, however, he approached the two men with the other dwarves following behind, the tension in the room seeming to grow as they came closer, despite Gandalf's serene smile and Elrond's unfathomable dark gaze.

"Ah, Thorin!" Gandalf said. "At last, we can get down to it. Did you bring the map as I instructed?"

"Yes," Thorin said stiffly, glaring at the Elven-lord, though his words were directed at the wizard. "Though I fail to grasp how our business is any concern of _elves."_

Elrond's expression remained unchanged, though Thorin could hear Gandalf audibly sigh.

"We have already been through this, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said irritably. "Lord Elrond is one of the few in Middle-earth who has the skill to read that map. Show it to him!"

"This map is the legacy of my people," Thorin growled. "It is mine to protect, as are its secrets – I will not let the hands of an elf soil it."

"I will never understand the outrageous stubbornness of dwarves," Gandalf said, shaking his head in frustration. "Your pride will be your downfall, Thorin Oakenshield."

This struck a chord within Thorin, and he stared at the wizard stonily, the echoes of voices drifting through his head: _"Pride and greed was all your grandfather had, and look where it got him. We have nothing now because of him!"_

The memories of the exile following the aftermath of Smaug's attack made Thorin wince, the accusing tones and pointing fingers of the surviving dwarves coming back to haunt him, and before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he had extracted the map from within the interior of his tunic and passed it over to Lord Elrond, who only stared at him evenly despite the protests of the dwarves from behind him.

"Thorin—" Dwalin growled, but he held up a hand to silence the burly dwarf, all of them looking to Elrond as he studied the map intently, shifting it this way and that as his slanted brows creased.

Finally, he uttered two words: _"Cirth ithil."_

"Ah," Gandalf said, his face lighting up in recognition while the dwarves and Bilbo looked on in confusion. "Moon runes. An easy thing to miss."

Elrond nodded slowly, his dark eyes finding Thorin's own as the dwarf raised his chin, knowing what the Elven-lord was about to ask.

"This map depicts the Lonely Mountain," he said. "What is your interest in Erebor?"

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, but Thorin beat him to it, holding the elf's eyes levelly.

"Erebor is my birthright, and this map belonged to my father," he said. "It is my duty to know what secrets it holds, and to treasure it as the ancient artifact it is."

Elrond raised his brows, saying nothing, only looking over at Gandalf, who gave Thorin the faintest trace of a wink.

"Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day they were written," Elrond said finally, and Thorin felt his stomach drop as the rest of the dwarves shifted anxiously behind him.

"Can you still read them?" Gandalf asked, and Elrond looked to the moon, then down to the map, before finally waving a hand. "Follow me."

The procession filed out of the library and trailed after the Elven-lord, his gold robes billowing behind him as he strode to a partially hidden staircase nestled into the cliff behind the library, beginning to ascend as the rest followed suit.

The stairs wound up the cliff-face, twisting behind waterfalls and making the stone slick beneath their feet, the spray dampening their hair and clothes as they kept climbing, though Thorin found the sensation quite pleasant despite his companions' curses and complaints.

Finally, they reached the top of the staircase, where it opened out to a niche cut into the side of the cliff, offering an astounding view of the valley below as Elrond made his way to a pedestal set in the center of the niche, made of a white sort of stone that turned opaque in the moonlight.

"It seems that you were meant to come to Rivendell on this night, Thorin Oakenshield," the elf said as Thorin stepped closer to the pedestal, looking to him quizzically. "This map was written by the light of a midsummer crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago, and as fate would have it, the same moon shines upon us tonight."

Elrond unfolded the map and placed it atop the pedestal, and it was like the paper seemed to absorb the moonlight reflecting off of the stone, thin scratches of silvery light beginning to appear on the map below the drawing of the mountain.

Balin, who had come to stand beside Thorin, stared at the map intently, beginning to read the runes in a breathless voice: _"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."_

"They're instructions," Kíli said excitedly, looking around at all those assembled with a large grin. "They're telling us what to do, how to get into the mountain!"

"It makes no sense, though," Fíli said, frowning. "They're not only instructions, but a riddle, as well."

"I-I don't mean to intrude," Bilbo said, speaking up for the first time as he stood next to Gandalf. "But what is this…'Durin's Day?'"

"It's the start of the dwarves' new year," Balin supplied. "It happens when the last sun of autumn and the first moon of winter appear in the sky together."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Bilbo said uncertainly, after catching the troubled look Thorin and Balin had just exchanged.

Thorin shook his head. "This is ill news," he said. "Summer is passing, and Durin's Day will be upon us sooner than we think."

"We still have time," Balin said optimistically, but Thorin was already itching with impatience – if they wanted to enter the mountain, they needed to leave _now. _

"Time for what?" Bilbo asked, completely lost, but Balin waved a hand at him.

"To find the entrance," he replied. "We have to be standing at exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened."

"So this is your purpose?" Elrond said, and the dwarves turned to see the elf staring at them with unreadable dark eyes, his features pulled into a tight frown. "You seek to enter the mountain?"

"What of it?" Dwalin growled, eyeing the Elven-lord fiercely as Elrond looked around at them all, his expression grim.

"There are some who would not deem it wise," he said solemnly, and though Thorin would not dare listen to the elf in this matter, the graveness of his tone startled him.

Elrond shared a significant look with Gandalf at this before the Elven-lord turned and whisked back to the stairs, the wizard following with some resign.

After giving the dwarves an uncertain look, Bilbo scampered after them, leaving the five dwarves alone atop the cliff.

"Uncle, we can make it," Fíli said firmly, as soon as the others were out of earshot. "We have the strength, and we have the means. We can do this."

Thorin breathed in deeply, his stomach still in knots, before he looked back to his companions, seeing his own determination and willingness reflected back to him in all of their gazes.

"I know we can," he said. "And we will leave as soon as we restock our supplies and rest up. Which means that all of us deserve a good night's rest tonight."

They all nodded in agreement, and as one, they made their way back down the stairs, coming upon the House of Elrond once more and starting the arduous trek back to the camp they were sharing with the others, the houses more empty and eerie than they had been before.

They had only been walking for about five minutes before they came across a secluded garden, though they all stopped when they heard voices coming out of the foliage, drawing nearer to them as they exchanged a look, one of the voices strangely familiar.

They all watched as first the Lady Gilraen emerged from the garden path, closely followed by the barmaid, Saf, before they stopped in front of the garden's entrance, speaking in low voices before the older woman hugged Saf to her, the barmaid returning the gesture awkwardly before Gilraen left, leaving Saf standing alone before the garden.

"What's our barmaid doing with that strange woman?" Kíli asked, and Thorin's jaw clenched when he heard his nephew refer to her as _"our _barmaid."

"Whatever it is, I am sure it does not concern you," Thorin said. "All of you, retire for the night. I will see you back at camp."

His tone left no room for arguments, and after a tense moment of silence, the four other dwarves shuffled off, leaving Thorin alone with the woman, who had obviously heard him and had turned to face him.

Thorin was vaguely surprised to see her red-rimmed eyes, and distantly wondered if she had been crying, but all of his thoughts were burned out by the suspicion clouding his head as he stepped closer to her, resisting the urge to start shouting as she faced him down, unmoving.

"I hope you enjoyed your evening with your friend, Lady Tinnuhiril," he said casually, and he got some satisfaction out of seeing the surprised look on her face before it was concealed.

"Who told you that?" she asked neutrally, and Thorin shrugged.

"It does not matter, not anymore," he said. "Because now I know for a fact that you are a liar, just as I have pinned from the start."

"An astute observation, coming from you," she retorted, but Thorin only smiled sardonically.

"My only question now is, who are you?" he said, stepping closer as she watched him warily. "A thief? A spy? A murderess? What secrets are you trying to run from, barmaid?"

"My life is no longer your concern, dwarf," she hissed. "The way I see it, we were only ever strangers passing in the night, and good riddance when I look back and see that your shadow is long gone."

"Tell me who you are," Thorin insisted, and they were now standing so close they were nearly nose-to-nose.

She grinned in his face, her eyes bloodshot and angry as she whispered, "Never."

Thorin blinked, and she stepped away from him, still giving him that same sneering grin as she seemed to melt away into the shadows.

"Good luck on your quest, Thorin Oakenshield," she said. "Valar know you'll need it."

* * *

**Mystery, mystery all around! Fret not, readers: we still have a few more chapters in Rivendell, and quite a few secrets to still unravel...**

**Next chapter: _Some Secrets and a Feast_**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback!**


	11. 11: Some Secrets and a Feast

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**This chapter is a mess, but so is my life.**

**(On a side note, has anyone seen the new _Star Wars _yet? I went to the premiere last night, and as an ardent fan, I really enjoyed it. Go see it if you haven't and then tell me what you think: either on here, or my Tumblr, which is 'booty-boggins' (pls I need to people to fangirl with))**

**Thanks to all the new favorites/follows, and many thanks to my reviewers from last time: ChizomenoHime, Vanafindiel, dogsrock101, PrimeEmily135, lindir's gaze, Amanda (Guest), Jo (Guest), and Guest 1!**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Some Secrets and a Feast

**TA 2934**

She leaned her chair back against the wall of the grimy pub, cupping her tankard in her hands as she surveyed the seedy crowd from under her hood.

She had chosen this pub for the simple reason that it was for the lowest of the low; thieves, vagabonds, prostitutes – whatever crime festered in the heart of Minas Tirith, one was sure to find the source of it in _The Crownless King. _But here, she was no one; another faceless character, a nameless soul wandering through the dark alleyways at night, on the prowl as the other criminals were so fond of doing.

She sipped the mead she had been served cautiously, wrinkling her nose at the strong odor and even more pungent taste; she had never acquired a liking for Gondorian drinks, and it seemed like her appreciation was not going to start tonight, either.

The noise from the crowd was so loud that she didn't even register the door to the pub opening, until a sudden hush fell over the patrons, and she looked up from her idle tracing of the tabletop, the mead on her finger from when the drunken bartender had almost spilled it all on her front dripping from one arched tip, the droplets seeming to echo in the sudden silence.

A few tittering women skidded out of her line of vision, allowing her a full view all the way to the door, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as she recognized the first man, the one from the alleyway naught a week ago.

He surveyed the room with that same arrogant air she had noticed during their run-in, and the two men behind him were no better, though they looked rougher, meaner, like wild dogs not yet used to being chained by a leash.

She sat perfectly still, half-hoping he wouldn't notice her, yet the other half begging to see what would happen if he spotted her. By some fortune as yet to be determined, his green eyes locked with hers from across the floor, and he looked away, a tiny smirk dancing across his lips as his gaze swept over the watching crowd.

"Go back to your merrymaking," he said, speaking in a normal tone, yet it carried authoritatively over the patrons. "Drink until the dawn arrives like a scorned lover upon your doorstep. The Watchers will take care of your payments tonight."

There was an uproar of cheers from the crowd, and in less than five seconds, the pub was as loud and raucous as it had been before the newcomers' arrival, and she shook her head slightly to herself, wondering what kind of man had the authority and the money such as he, for he did not seem like the nobility type.

She waited, tapping her fingers against the side of her tankard, and it was several minutes before she saw him weaving through the crowd, dodging men and women alike, undoubtedly heading for her table in the corner.

He finally arrived, looking the same as he had on that first night: dark clothing, dark hair, striking cheekbones, and two green moons for eyes, with freckles like the scattering of stars dusting across the bridge of his nose.

"Mind if I join you?" he said, already sitting down in the seat opposite her, and she noticed then that she was effectively trapped, having him across from her and a wall behind her, though she only met his eyes coolly from beneath her hood.

"I suppose I don't have much choice in the matter, as you have already seated yourself," she replied, flicking a hand at him, and he smirked, pulling a metal case from an inside pocket of his cloak and then extracting a rolled piece of what appeared to be parchment paper from within.

"You can always tell me to leave," he pointed out, before striking a match and holding it up to the paper, catching the tip of it ablaze as he took a deep drag. "But somehow I get the sense that you don't want me to."

She raised a skeptical brow. "That's quite assumptive now, isn't it?"

He only released a sharply scented cloud of smoke into the air as a reply, before holding out the case to her. "Want to try one?"

"What are they?" she asked, making no move of reaching for the sticks inside, and he shrugged before stowing it back away.

"No idea," he said. "I simply call them smokes; they're sort of a more easily portable pipe, you could say. Pre-rolled, with whatever leaf you choose to smoke on the inside already there; all you need is a match."

"Interesting," she said blandly. "Now, what do you want?"

He looked back to her through a cloud of smoke, his eyes suddenly looking like a mist-shrouded forest as his expression took on a trace of surprise and mock hurt.

"I said we would meet again, didn't I?" he said. "My only hope now is that you still remember who I am."

"You said your name was Garem," she said, crossing her arms. "After you so gently pinned me to a wall."

"That was after I had released you," he said dismissively. "And I don't recall ever getting _your _name, Ranger."

Her face twitched at this. "I am a Ranger no more; I am Safavael."

"Safavael…" he mused, before gesturing to her head. "Remove your hood."

She did not move, and he smirked as he leaned closer, resting his elbows upon the table as he added, "Please?"

An uncomfortable warmth spread through her stomach when she met his gaze, and before she could comprehend her actions, the hood was already down, her black hair falling over her shoulders in little waves as he sat back, assessing her as he did in the alleyway.

"A beautiful face to match a beautiful name," he remarked, and she scowled at the compliment – she was _much _more than a pretty face.

"Am I ever going to know the reason for your stalking me?" she asked shortly, and he chuckled, flicking ash off the tip of his smoke.

"I am hardly stalking you," he said amusedly. "I am merely observing you; testing you, in fact."

Saf's eyebrows shot up at this. "Testing me on what?"

"Certain skills I may need on my side in the future," he said, before abruptly standing up and dropping his smoke, crushing it into ashes with the heel of his boot as she stared at him, utterly bewildered.

"That's it?" she said. "That's all I get?"

"No need to worry, love," he said nonchalantly. "I'll be around."

Saf got to her feet as he made to walk away, becoming increasingly irritated with his vagueness and contradictory method of seeking her out whenever the chance arose.

"Don't walk away from me like that!" she snapped, staring hard at his back until he turned around, his expression unreadable.

He said nothing, though he made his way back over to her, standing so close she could feel her back pressing against the wall.

"I want answers," she demanded, holding his gaze steady as she spoke, though every nerve inside of her was itching under her skin. "What do you need me for? What are the Watchers? And how come every time we meet I somehow end up against a wall?"

"Your answers will come soon," he said, reaching up and pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear before allowing his fingers to brush across her jawline as he pulled away, sending shivers down her spine, though she couldn't tell if they were bad or not. "In the meantime, you will stay low, and you will wait for me to come to you."

She only stood there, too shocked and confused to move, and he gave her one last smirk before whisking away and twisting out of sight among the compact bodies of the patrons.

When he was gone, she inhaled a deep breath, her fingers reaching up to touch the place where he had brushed back her hair. She felt something that was not her hair behind her ear, however, and when she brought her hand back down, she opened her palm to reveal a pristine white leaf, glimmering innocently up at her.

* * *

**Present Day – TA 2941**

Saf jerked awake, scrubbing at her face where she thought she could still feel the phantom touch of fingertips, her skin coated with a cold sweat.

Only after realizing that she was alone, far away from Gondor, did she relax, settling herself back on to the soft downy pillows beneath her head, taking in her surroundings just to be sure she was safe.

She had been formerly discharged from the healing house before dinner yesterday, and last night Gilraen had escorted her to her old rooms so she could retire for the night. Unsurprisingly, the rooms had not changed one bit; granted, they were a lot cleaner than when she had previously inhabited them – no muddy boots trod across the stone, the bed made, everything looking neat and orderly – but she had still felt a wave of nostalgia roll over her at the sight.

The large bed with its ivory headboard was still in the center of the room, beneath a painting of Noldorin elves weaving beautiful tapestries in a circle while birds sang about them, and the pale silk curtains still scuttled about the white stone floors from where the outside breeze rustled them from the balcony. The glittering silver lamps hanging from the ceiling were still in their respective places, and the washroom was still the same, with its vanity and natural spring bath that seemed to be calling her name.

Determining that she would not be able to drift back asleep, she kicked off the covers and strode to the washroom, stripping off the sheer nightgown she had slept in before perusing herself in the looking-glass above the vanity.

Her hair had lost all sense of elegance in her sleep, now resembling a snarled mane of wild curls around her narrow face. Her grey eyes were darker than normal, lidded and shadowed from exhaustion, and she let her fingers drift over her body, poking at the bones that jutted out further than others from lack of sufficient nutrition on the road. She grimaced at the numerous cuts and bruises covering her pale skin, before unwinding the bandages around her forearm, where that blasted warg had bitten her.

The elvish healing had done her injury well; four of the tooth markings were very nearly healed, only soft pink blemishes on her skin, while the three stitched ones already looked as if they had been healed over weeks, not merely a day, and she estimated that by tomorrow or the day after she would be fine to take them out.

Raking her hair out of her face, she turned to the bath and stepped in, finding it refreshingly cool as she scrubbed at her skin, getting the clammy feel out of her pores before dunking her head under, the last traces of her memories fading away as she drifted, eyes half-closed, savoring the sensation.

After spending a few minutes washing, she dragged herself out of the water and perched on the edge of the bath, wringing out her hair before letting it plaster to her back to dry some before she exited the bath for good.

She fingered the bite marks on her arm once again, her thoughts turning in the unbidden direction of Thorin as she remembered his accusations in the Trollshaws, and then the night before, when he had confronted her outside of the gardens.

She didn't know how he had learned of the name the elves had given her, but she certainly knew that whatever small trust Thorin had had for her back in Archet and the Trollshaws was completely obliterated. The king-in-exile's disgust of elves was legendary among the Company, and now she was associated with his very enemies, if not classified as worse already in his book.

She sighed, wondering how she could possibly fix this mess, before stopping, taken aback by this notion. Why did she believe that this conflict needed resolving? After the dwarves left Rivendell that would be the last of them she would ever see. She would be staying here, visiting with Gilraen and Estel for a while before the world tugged at her again, and they would journey on to continue their quest.

The thought made her feel slightly…empty, for some odd reason. As if she had just spent a great amount of time trying to light a fire, and then someone came along and stamped it out into ash.

_You're letting your sentimentality get the better of you, _she chided herself. _Gilraen did always manage to get you to be more emotional whenever she was around – a bloody annoying gift of hers._

Still, a nagging had started to gnaw at her gut, and, playing it off as hunger, she clambered to her feet and shrugged on the silken bathrobe that had been left in the washroom for her, toweling her hair before crossing over to the wardrobe with some trepidation.

As she had suspected, her old hunting clothes had been removed, probably to be stored in somewhere more long-term, but many of the old gowns she had worn on occasion still hung neatly, as if hinting to her that she would never be rid of them.

Unfortunately, being naked in the House of Elrond was something extremely frowned upon, and, not having any other choice, as she had naught a clue of where the clothes she came in were, she finally groaned and dragged a simple burnished gold gown from the back, not recalling if she had ever even worn it initially.

She slipped the dress on and braided her hair over her shoulder, too lazy to pin it up as she normally did but not wanting it in her face, either. Deciding that she had done all she could to make herself somewhat decent, she exited her room and went in search of Estel and, hopefully, some breakfast.

It did not take her long to find her cousin. Or, more accurately, it did not take long for her to run into her aunt, who insisted she come down to the training yard and watch Estel practice his swordplay while they ate.

"Here, sit," Gilraen said, pulling out a chair for Saf as they seated themselves at a small wooden table overlooking the neatly manicured training yard. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," Saf said, already piling her plate high with the scones an elf-maiden placed before them before whisking off again as Gilraen poured them tea.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, and Saf shrugged, nibbling on a bite of scone as she tried not to recall Garem and _The Crownless King _once more.

Gilraen pursed her lips, taking a sip of tea and scrutinizing Saf with her shrewd eyes, yet she chose not to comment, and Saf cleared her throat.

"Do you do this often?" she asked, gesturing to the table and the training yard below, and Gilraen grinned mischievously.

"It's become an enjoyable past time," she admitted slyly. "Most think that I come here to support Estel – which I do, of course – but it has its perks, as well."

Saf raised her brows, and Gilraen smiled. "I must say, Glorfindel is an exceptional teacher to my son. And not too painful on the eyes, either."

At this, Saf sucked in some of the tea she had been drinking too sharply, and she coughed, her throat scalding from the liquid as Gilraen looked to her questioningly.

"Glorfindel is still here?" she asked, when her throat had stopped burning so much, and her aunt nodded slowly. "Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not," Saf said, regaining her composure and straightening her shoulders, remembering her last encounter with the elf with a grimace as Gilraen studied her carefully, before shrugging and turning away.

"Look, there he is," she said, gesturing to the yard, and Saf turned to see the golden-haired elf drift breezily into the practice ring, twirling his sword in his hand as if it were nothing, a dark-haired boy following closely behind that Saf recognized to be Estel.

"Valar, he's tall now," she said, and regret washed over her as she realized how much older he looked, his wavy hair just brushing the tops of his shoulders and his demeanor proud and stern, and she would have mistaken him for a man if it wasn't for his obvious bodily youth.

"Indeed," Gilraen said, and her eyes softened when she looked upon her son. "He takes after Arathorn so much; not just in looks, either. He is quiet, reserved, kind, and works so hard to be the best he can. He is going to be a great man when he gets older. His father would be proud."

Saf looked over to see Gilraen dabbing at her eyes with a napkin, and she reached out a hand, touching her aunt's sleeve.

"He is going to be the greatest of us all, _naneth nîn," _she said softly. "He is the hope for our people."

Gilraen sniffed, nodding, and Saf frowned when a thought crossed her mind.

"Have you told him yet?" she asked, and Gilraen hesitated, biting her lip.

"He's too young," she said, refolding the napkin and placing it back in her lap, her manner turning brisk and composed once more, though Saf noticed how she didn't meet her eyes. "I do not want to burden him with such a monumental task at this age. He should enjoy his early years with peace and innocence."

"I understand you want to protect him," Saf said. "But he needs to know who he is, who he will _become. _He is Isildur's Heir; you cannot hide that from him forever."

"I know that," she snapped, and her eyes were hard when they turned on Saf. "I've known that ever since they brought my husband back with seven arrows sticking out of his chest. I've known that since the Watchers attacked our settlement, ranting on how Isildur's line is broken, and it was time to usher in a new era, a new king, while the blood of our people pooled at their feet. _I know."_

Saf blinked, taken aback by the sudden vehemence in her aunt's voice as she turned away, jaw working angrily.

"They are about to start," she said in an off-hand voice, and her eyes narrowed. "And it seems like they are about to have company."

Saf followed her gaze and stiffened, recognizing the entering party of Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, Bofur, Nori, and Thorin, who brought up the rear of the group, his scowl as dark as ever as Glorfindel and Estel looked away from their training.

She watched in some incredulity as Estel said something to Glorfindel before dashing over to the dwarves, beginning to talk animatedly to _Thorin, _of all people, and leaving her feeling as if she had just swallowed a mouthful of salt.

Her shock escalated to a state of complete bafflement when she observed Thorin talking to her cousin, a slight smile gracing his features and making his appearance soften by about ten years, his face not as lined, and his expression less like a thundercloud than she had ever seen it.

"I think that's the closest I've ever seen him get to a smile," she said wonderingly, and Gilraen let out a snort.

"He should do it more often," she said, scrutinizing the scene below with a twinkle in her eye. "He's quite handsome for a dwarf."

_If thorns were considered 'handsome,' _she thought to herself, sinking lower in her chair in the hopes that the dwarves would not see her, especially Thorin, after their unpleasant encounter the night before. She did have to admit, though, that the king-in-exile looked a lot better when he wasn't constantly scowling, as she snuck another glance at him.

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better," her aunt said, het tone pleasantly surprised, and Saf peeked her head over the railing, her face immediately flaming when she saw what she was talking about.

The two princes had broken off from the main group to go spar, and they had tossed their tunics aside, their broad shoulders and bare chests rippling with muscle and hair, and she wanted to crawl under the table when she saw that Gilraen was watching them, enraptured. Saf admitted to herself that she would have quite liked the sight of the half-naked princes, but the presence of her aunt was nearly overwhelming that desire. Fortunately, the other dwarves seemed to have no intention of taking off their shirts, but she found herself distantly wondering what Thorin's chest looked like, before instantly batting that thought out of her head, her face flushing even more.

"Maybe we should go," she said awkwardly. "I doubt the dwarves want an audience in a place like this."

"Nonsense," Gilraen said absentmindedly, leaning to get a better look at Fíli as he twirled his twin swords, grinning impishly at Kíli as his brother flourished his own blade with a good-natured snarl. "We are merely observers."

"You're juvenile," Saf scoffed, shaking her head and getting to her feet, trying to edge back from the table so no one below would see her. "I'm just going to go—"

"Saf?" a voice called from below, and she tensed, looking down to see everyone in the training yard staring up at her, though her heart leapt when she recognized the voice to be Estel's. "Is that you?"

Ignoring the heat of everyone's eyes, Saf nodded tightly, forcing a smile as she said, "Yes, it's me, Estel."

There were several heartbeats of silence, in which Estel stared at her with confused grey eyes, and she stared back, wondering how her cousin was going to react to her presence. He had been very young when she had left, and she had no idea what kind of regard he held her in anymore. For all she knew, he could despise her now.

After a bit of deliberation, her younger cousin sheathed his sword, and before she knew it, he was running to greet her, a bright smile beaming out at her, and relief flooded her as she hefted her skirts, descending into the yard to meet him.

He plowed into her hard enough to knock some of the air from her lungs, but she hardly cared, crushing the boy to her chest as his arms went around her, and Saf blinked, shocked at the tears in her eyes.

"You're back!" he said excitedly, his voice muffled from her dress. "I missed you, cousin!"

"And I you, dear one," she said thickly, aware that everyone was still staring but not having the sense to care in this moment.

"I have so much to tell you," he went on, releasing her and grabbing her hand, leading her towards the watching dwarves and elf in the yard, much to her dismay. "Have you met Thorin yet? He's a dwarf, and he says he's fought in many battles. He told me I could train with him today, and Glorfindel says he's fine with it!"

Saf avoided the eyes of aforementioned elf, but she grimaced when she was brought face-to-face with the king-in-exile, who was watching her with a strange expression she couldn't identify as Estel looked back and forth between the two, beaming.

"Yes, I have, um, met Thorin," she said uncomfortably, swallowing hard when she saw Estel's shining gaze as he looked up at her. "And I'm sure you will learn much from him; he is a very skilled warrior."

The compliment seemed to grate her throat on the way out, and Thorin looked surprised at her admission, though his eyes glinted with amusement as Estel turned back to him, breathless.

"Thorin, this is my cousin, Saf," he said, straightening his shoulders and taking on an air of professionalism as Saf stood there, frozen in horror with a smile plastered to her face. "Her real name is Safavael, though, and the elves here like to call her Tinnuhiril, Safavael Tinnuhiril."

"Cousin, eh?" Thorin said, gazing at Saf with a cold expression, all traces of amusement gone. "And I assume that your mother is her aunt, as well?"

"Yes," he said, nodding seriously. "Saf is great too, though. Mother's told me stories about her, of how she used to live in the wild and traveled all over the world—"

"Estel," Saf broke in stiffly. "Why don't you go see your mother for a moment? I believe she wanted to speak to you about something."

He looked disappointed, but nodded obediently, letting go of her hand and making his way over to his mother, leaving her alone with six stunned dwarves and one elf she had yet to acknowledge.

"What does he mean, Saf?" Kíli asked. "You said you had lived in Archet all your life."

"Ain't it obvious, lad?" Dwalin said, glaring at Saf with his arms crossed, and had she been a lesser woman, she would have cowered before that glare. "She lied to us."

"Only to keep myself safe," she snapped, looking around at them all and taking in their expressions, which ranged from bewilderment to open suspicion. "You would have done the same if you were in my position."

"But we trusted you," Bofur broke in, looking disappointed as he pulled on one of his braids. "Suffice to say, that took a lot, coming from dwarves, and it seems unfair to me that you did not place the same trust in us."

This struck Saf, rendering her silent, and it was Bofur's almost crestfallen expression that got to her the most. They were right, of course; she had lied to them. But if only they knew…

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It was wrong of me to deceive you. But I cannot speak of it. If it is answers you're looking for, then Gandalf will be able to help you; he has known me for a long time."

She dropped their gazes, mumbling a hasty "good day" before walking quickly away, at a loss of what to think. She knew Gandalf would not betray the worst of her secrets, but he was enough of an outsider to tell her story succinctly and convincingly, where she was unsure of where even to begin.

Then she berated herself, clenching her fists. _You are no coward. Own up to your life, Safavael. It is not another's place to say of who you are._

She made a silent vow then to find the dwarves at a later time and explain, but before she had taken more than a few steps, she was stopped by the unmistakable musical voice of Glorfindel.

"Lady Tinnuhiril," he said, and she turned stiffly, staring over the elf's shoulder as she raised a questioning brow. "And dwarves," he added, gesturing to the group near them, and Saf saw Thorin turn away, sniffing. "There is to be a feast tonight, in honor of midsummer's eve, in the Hall of Fire. Lord Elrond wished me to pass on the message and extend the invitation to you all."

"How nice," Saf said flatly, and Thorin grunted in agreement. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

She turned away, meeting Thorin's eyes when she did so, and saw that he was watching her intently. Upon noticing her gaze on him, he flicked his eyes away, and she shook her head, walking out of the yard and already feeling exhaustion settling back into her bones.

_A right mess you've gotten yourself into now, aye?_

* * *

"A feast?" Glóin echoed incredulously, halting his activity of counting all the coins in his coin pouch as he stared up at Thorin in disbelief. "They want us to go to a bloody _feast?"_

Thorin shrugged, crossing his arms when the rest of the group who hadn't been present in the training yard began to mutter and grumble amongst themselves, clearly discontented.

"That's what the elf said," he confirmed, and Glóin scowled, shaking his head and going back to counting his money.

"We've been here long enough," Dori protested. "We should leave, now."

"We will leave," Thorin assured, looking around at the Company and meeting each of their gazes meaningfully. "After all, a feast would make for a great distraction."

A grin bloomed across the grey-haired dwarf's face, and the rest of the Company looked around mischievously, though Thorin noted the hobbit looked a bit apprehensive, and almost…disappointed? He had noticed their burglar wasn't with them as much during their stay in the valley, and he wondered if he had become enchanted enough with the place to actually consider staying. He would be surprised if the hobbit went any further with them on the journey, but oddly, this thought disgruntled him all the same.

With the dwarves seemingly satisfied with this plan, they went back to talking amongst themselves and getting back the rest the wild had stolen from them. Thorin walked over and sat back against the railing of their camp's balcony, wincing at his sore muscles. His training had been more rigorous than expected, only because _Estel_ was more rigorous than he had expected. For such a young and inexperienced swordsman, the boy showed apt skill and learned quickly, and Thorin sensed a great deal of potential behind his serious face.

Thinking of the boy led his thoughts back to the barmaid, and he recalled the horribly awkward conversation in the training yard earlier with a stab of frustration. He knew the dwarves who had been present with him had wasted no time in relaying to their other companions the nature of the barmaid's deception, but Thorin could not join in on their suspicion and outrage, not anymore; he had already gone through that phase, and now all he could think was _why _she would have lied to them.

He shook his head, his mind going through the circle of all the things she could be, though he had already exhausted his options to death at this point. As much as he hated to admit it, she was still an enigma, and he knew that he would not rest until he found out why she had chosen to hide behind the façade of an innocent barmaid.

Deciding that now would be the opportune moment to find Gandalf and get some answers, he clambered to his feet once more, heading back the way he had entered, and Dwalin looked up when he passed, stopping mid-conversation with Nori.

"Where are you off to?" he asked, eyes narrowed, and Thorin shrugged.

"Need some air," he replied, which was entirely absurd; this place was nothing _but _air.

Before Dwalin could object, however, Thorin had exited the camp, and rounded a corner to continue down the hallway before nearly stumbling into someone.

Thorin looked up, a gruff apology on his lips to whatever foolish elf he had run into, but he stopped abruptly when he realized it was Gandalf.

"Do watch where you are going, Thorin Oakenshield," the wizard huffed, twitching his pointy hat back into place after Thorin had sent it askew. "A frail old man like myself must be treated delicately, you know."

Thorin snorted, rolling his eyes; as if the wizard was that fragile to begin with.

"Were you coming to our camp?" Thorin asked, and Gandalf nodded, smoothing down his beard.

"I was coming to speak to you, actually," he said. "There is a feast tonight—"

"Yes, I know, we got the invitation," Thorin said. "But I must warn you, we are to leave during the feast, to avoid any unwanted attention, so I suggest you be prepared by then."

"And that is what I wanted to speak to you about," Gandalf said, gesturing with his head for Thorin to follow him, and they began to walk back down the hallway the wizard had just emerged from. "I will not be going with you."

Thorin shot the wizard an outraged look. "You agreed to come on this quest in Bree, you are not going to back out now—"

"I will not be going with you _tonight," _Gandalf clarified, rolling his eyes. "I will rejoin you in the Misty Mountains, but I must take care of a few things before I can follow you. Balin still remembers the paths to take; he can lead you in my stead, if there is not another guide you would be willing to take."

He gave Thorin a sidelong glance, and he scowled, coming to a stop by one of the large open windows of the hallway.

"And that was what _I _wanted to speak with you about," he said, and Gandalf raised his brows. "Gilraen and Estel are her family, and now I learn that she used to live in the wild, and here for a time. Why did she lie to me?"

Gandalf did not look surprised in the slightest, only asking, "Did you ask her why yourself?"

Thorin grit his teeth. "The woman refuses to share anything with me! All she said was to ask you."

"Therein lies your problem," he said sternly. "She shares nothing with you because you refuse to listen! Your suspicion and your judgment fill in the blanks for you, and it is these presumptions that make you deaf to what she wishes to say. Do not think of yourself as the only one with a difficult past and an uncertain future, Thorin Oakenshield."

This brought Thorin up short, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What would you have me do, then?" he asked hollowly, looking up to see Gandalf gazing at him with an unreadable expression.

"Ask her," he said simply. "And _listen. _She is a remarkable woman, and there is a reason I asked her to join your company. Hopefully, you will understand why."

Thorin said nothing, not even having the heart to refute her presence amongst them again, and Gandalf cleared his throat.

"I think it would be wise for you and your Company to come to the feast, if only for a little bit," he advised. "It would raise suspicion if you were to leave before then."

Thorin heaved another sigh, cursing the bloody elves and that bloody barmaid and the roaring headache he was developing between the two.

Gandalf took Thorin's silence as a yes, and he smiled, clapping him on the shoulder before turning to leave.

"Gandalf," Thorin said suddenly, and the wizard hummed, turning to face him again. "It was no chance meeting that we ended up in Archet, was it? You had all of this planned from the start."

The wizard only gave him a mysterious smile, his eyes twinkling before he walked away, saying nothing more.

* * *

Saf had to wonder if she would turn into a statue after not moving for so long, propped against the wall and frozen forevermore, showcasing a dark-haired woman with an expression resembling that of one who had accidentally trod on a mouse.

The feast, as she had expected, was dreadfully boring. The elves floated around in near silence, their voices quiet and soft, and the music just as equally subdued. The Hall of Fire was ablaze with a large bonfire set in the middle of the room, hence its name, and it washed the hall in muted gold and orange light, and was a nice contrast to the cool summer night settled upon them.

She stuck to the extreme edges of the gathering, nursing a fine goblet of Dorwinion wine in one hand while her other tapped against her side agitatedly, and she wondered if leaving after only thirty minutes would be considered rude.

Estel had already run off to one of the storytelling elves near the fire, and she could see him seated amongst the listening elves, the fire at his back turning his black hair auburn and throwing his enamored face into contrast. Gilraen had drifted off some minutes ago, speaking to some of the nobility and knocking back glass after glass of wine, and Saf figured she ought to stay for the sake of her aunt, who would no doubt be drunker than a skunk in a few moments.

Her eyes roved over the feast again, watching the elves eat and drink and dance serenely, and she felt a sudden stab of longing for Archet then, remembering the drunken merchants who would laugh and sing merrily at the top of their voices, spilling their drinks everywhere as they danced upon the tables, and the general rowdiness of _The Wooden Lady _every night. She missed the liveliness, she realized, and the sense of belonging somewhere. Here…she was a mere guest, a passing shadow that would soon be gone again, off to who-knows-where. And the thought made her feel lonelier than she had in a long time, ever since she had traveled with the dwarves.

It struck her then, just how much she had enjoyed the Company's presence with her in the wild. They were loud, and stubborn, and argumentative, and at times uncouth; but they were kind, and generous, and had treated her with respect. Of course, all that was ruined now, and the guilt flickered in her gut again, just as a figure sidled up to her.

"My lady," Glorfindel said smoothly, inclining his golden head to her as she stiffened, stifling a sigh. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"What makes you say that?" she said neutrally, taking a sip from her goblet and puckering her lips at the taste of the elven wine, keeping her eyes trained forward.

"You are lost in your thoughts," he stated in amusement. "Your eyes betray you, Lady Tinnuhiril; you are somewhere far away from this feast."

"And that concerns you how?" she asked bluntly, finally turning to face him and staring hard into his clear eyes, his expression blank as he raised a brow at her.

"You still have not forgiven me," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Why should I?" she hissed. "What have you done to earn my forgiveness?"

"I have protected Gilraen and Estel, as you made me swear," he pointed out, and she scoffed.

"This valley keeps them safe, not you," she retorted. "And you were the one to swear that oath to me, of your own volition."

"So I did," he conceded, dipping his head. "But your anger is misplaced; I have done nothing to wrong you."

"You did not tell me that my mother came here to die a month before my arrival," she said angrily. "You were the one who watched her pass in your arms; weak, starving, being hunted down like a wild dog. She came to you for _help, _but you let her die."

"I did tell you," Glorfindel said sharply, and she snorted derisively.

"Only after I stumbled upon her _grave _here," she spat, and Glorfindel looked away uncomfortably.

Saf shook her head, draining the rest of her wine in one gulp, and her eyes suddenly alighted upon a new figure, one that she was hoping to see before she escaped this dreadful feast.

"Do not think me as one so quick to forgive next time, and maybe you won't be so disappointed," she said, before marching away, leaving the elf speechless behind her.

* * *

In the end, Thorin was the only one who ended up going to the feast.

The Company had all groaned and complained loudly when he ordered them to go, and the noise was finally so obnoxious that he relented and allowed them to stay in the camp to pack for their departure later that night, if only to avoid an excruciating headache.

Bilbo, unsurprisingly, was the only one willing to go, and it was with some hesitation that the two reluctantly agreed to walk there together, as Bilbo knew the way and Thorin did not.

The hobbit led them through the houses expertly, his feet barely pattering on the ground, and Thorin cast him a sideways look, seeing him humming a merry tune under his breath as he walked on with bright eyes, seemingly content.

Thorin cleared his throat, deciding to try for some conversation; despite his initial disgruntlement over the hobbit's presence, Bilbo seemed a nice enough fellow, and most of the Company had taken a liking to him, which must say something about the burglar's character.

"You seem to know these halls well," he commented, and Bilbo looked to him nervously, shrugging his shoulders when Thorin only raised a brow.

"Yes, I – this place is very fascinating," he stammered, twiddling his thumbs. "It's not the Shire, I grant, but it does have its own charm."

Thorin nodded slowly, wishing he could say the same, but his pride would not allow it.

"What makes it so fascinating?" he asked, and Bilbo scratched his nose awkwardly.

"Well…the history, for one," he said. "There's so much knowledge here, so much to know about the world. And it also has the added perk of not having any relatives come banging on my door and trying to make off with all my silverware."

This goaded a chuckle out of Thorin, which seemed to surprise both him and the hobbit in equal measure.

"Ah, here we are," Bilbo said, pointing ahead to where a glowing hall stood, the silhouettes of many people moving about inside as the sounds of music and conversation floated out to them.

Bilbo started forward, but Thorin put a hand upon the hobbit's shoulder.

"Master Baggins," he said, and the hobbit looked up at him, startled at the sudden contact. "If you wish to stay here, then I will not stop you."

Bilbo stared at him, opening his mouth to say something, before closing it again, only giving him a tight nod.

"C'mon," Thorin said, gesturing to the hall, and they entered together, the elves not paying them any attention as they looked around warily.

"Should I look for drinks?" Bilbo said uncertainly, and Thorin wrinkled his nose; he doubted the elves had anything other than wine, but he nodded to Bilbo all the same, and the hobbit wandered off, soon lost in the sea of tall, slender elf bodies.

Thorin had not been standing alone for more than ten seconds before a hand grabbed his elbow, and he turned in surprise to find the barmaid clutching his sleeve, her expression dark and her eyes tight and angry.

"We need to talk," she said lowly, and Thorin could not agree more, though he wondered what had changed her mind from earlier.

"Over here," he said, leading her carefully over to a veranda where the crowd wasn't as thick, holding on to her arm as he took notice of the empty goblet in her hands and the powerful smell of grapes upon her breath.

They came to a stop at the edge of the veranda, and Thorin leaned his elbows on the stone railing as she left her cup on an empty table and joined him, the fresh air seeming to cool her down some as she sighed heavily.

"Are you all right?" Thorin asked, hoping she wasn't going to be sick, and her lips curled sardonically.

"Am I ever?" she said drily, and Thorin stayed silent, not quite knowing what to say to that as she sighed again, raking her dark hair out of her face. Combined with her storm grey eyes and the white lace gown she wore, her hair appeared blacker than ever, and she seemed to remind Thorin of the stories he had heard when he was a dwarfling, about the maidens who danced in the sky with the moon every night, their eyes the stars themselves and their hair made from the cosmic shadows, before he pushed that thought aside, wondering where that had even come from.

"What do you need to speak with me about?" he asked, and she gave him a wry look.

"You have questions, I have answers," she replied simply. "You know now that I have family that is still alive, and that I lived here for a time when I did not travel or stay in Archet. I imagine that makes you very doubtful of anything I say now."

Thorin recalled Gandalf's words from earlier, and he decided to give listening a shot, merely shrugging and saying, "I will not doubt you if only this time, you tell me the truth."

She nodded slowly, lacing her fingers together as she began.

"I am not a barmaid, nor a baker's daughter," she said, keeping her eyes trained forward as she spoke. "I was born a Dúnedain Ranger, in a settlement called the North Keep in the Weather Hills, and my given name was Ancalimë Mîrakel. My father died in a fire, my half-brother was slaughtered by orcs, and my mother disappeared in my youth.

"I left the settlement, as I had nothing left, and changed my name to Safavael, in honor of my brother Iorhael. I have traveled the world all over, yet I have not gone further than the Misty Mountains. Seven years ago, I ran into Gilraen and a very young Estel, and brought them here, as there was much dissent in their own settlement. I stayed here for a little less than a year before moving on, and that was when I met Gandalf, after having saved him from a bandit attack."

Here she smiled at some distant memory, and she shook her head before continuing.

"I didn't know then, of course, that he was a wizard, and quite capable of handling himself, but he thanked me all the same, and we traveled for a while, becoming very good friends."

"Then that was the debt between you two?" Thorin cut in, and she nodded.

"I agreed – in the spur of the moment, really – that should he ever actually need my assistance again, then he would call upon me, and I would answer," she said, looking to him carefully, but he waved her on.

"That was when I stumbled upon Archet, and we went our separate ways. I decided to stay, and took on the occupation of barmaid, which I was quite content with until a meddling wizard showed up, traveling with you, of all people."

Thorin sensed her tale was at an end, and he scrutinized her face for any signs of deception. He found none, but saw that her eyes were filled with pain and the haunting of memories past, a look he recognized well, for he saw it in the mirror every time.

"Your tale may be true, but you are leaving out one very important detail," he said, and she looked to him in confusion as he raised a brow.

"I may be a dwarf, but I know what 'Estel' means," he said meaningfully, and her face pinched ever so slightly. "Your cousin's name is hope. He is Isildur's Heir…which means you could make a bid for the throne of Gondor if you wished."

She swallowed hard, looking away, and Thorin saw her fingers tighten on the railing.

"I do not wish for that kind of power," she said stiffly. "I do not wish to be remembered as a Ranger, and a descendant of Isildur's line."

"Then what do you want?" Thorin asked lowly, and he realized then how close they were, as he leaned in, his eyes searching hers.

"I want a house I may call my own, somewhere in the wild," she said, her voice a near-whisper as she met his eyes steadily. "I want to live out the rest of my years in peace. I want a garden, one that I may tend for myself, one where no one else's hands may touch the soil save for me. I want…freedom."

A thin layer of tears had turned her eyes silver, and she looked away, blinking rapidly and swiping at her cheeks, as Thorin stared at her, never thinking he would ever see the pesky, hard-headed barmaid so open and vulnerable before him, and he felt a fierce desire to protect rise within, before forcing it down, knowing that neither of them would appreciate such a thing.

Finally, when the silence between them had stretched on for several moments, Thorin spoke again.

"Do you want to join the quest?" he asked, and she looked to him sharply, knowing what he meant from his tone. It was not an invitation, but a mere question – a challenge, to see what she truly wanted.

"Nothing I say will sway you," she said finally, reading his face but finding nothing, his mask too impenetrable to her, a stranger. "You have not wanted me from the start."

Thorin looked at her simply, blue eyes meeting grey, before saying quietly, "Then prove me wrong."

* * *

**So many secrets, so many lies intertwined...and the plot only thickens from here...**

**Next Chapter: _Honor In Few_**

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback!**


	12. 12: Honor in Few

**Disclaimer: **_All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine._

**Well, well, well, look who decided to resurrect herself and drag her sorry ass out of her grave to finish this damned chapter! I'm actually incredibly sorry for the hiatus this story took. There's highs and lows when it comes to writing, and unfortunately this story seems to get stuck in the lows a lot, even though I love it and I hope to finish it one day. But all of you are amazing for sticking with it, and I truly appreciate your support for this story!**

**And with that being said, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed between now and then: Vanafindiel, silentmidnightdeath, dogsrock101, PrimeEmily135, Irishmadhatter3, inperfection, lindir's gaze, treesliketorches, Guest 1, and Guest 2!**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Honor in Few

**TA 2934**

Saf was not surprised when she was pinned to a wall yet again.

The hands were gentle, and so was the face when she was turned to see it, her gaze immediately falling onto the green eyes of Garem as a smirk lifted the corners of his mouth, where she just now noticed a faint scar jutting out from his top lip.

"Miss me?" he asked, quirking his brows at her in a cocky fashion, and she huffed, pushing him away and twitching her hood back into place.

"It's been a fortnight," she pointed out, referring to their last meeting in _The Crownless King. _"Hardly enough time for me to even consider something as sentimental as 'missing you.'"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," he countered. "And as for me, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night."

Saf felt her cheeks flame, and she was glad for the cover her hood provided, though Garem still smirked as if he knew her reaction.

"Kind of difficult not to, when you've been watching my every move for this so-called 'test,'" she said drily, raising a brow that he did not see as he pulled another one of his smokes from his metal case and lit it.

"And that's why I'm here, love," he said, a stream of smoke curling from his lips that Saf found herself captivated by before she shook her head, looking at him with renewed hardness, "to give you your results."

"All right," she said, crossing her arms. "And did I pass?"

He gave her a grin that made his dimple appear, and her stomach did a weird swoop that she didn't like at all as he said, "With flying colors."

"So what does this mean, then?" she asked. "What does passing entail in this scenario?"

"Come with me, and I'll show you." He extended a pale, long-fingered hand to her, and she hesitated, looking between it and his moon-like eyes, green flecked with darker craters.

"Why should I go with you?" she said. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Because I'm asking you to," he replied, still holding out his hand patiently – a choice, she realized. She could either go with him, or refuse. He was deliberately leaving it up to her to decide. And that gave her the answer.

She took his hand.

Their quick journey through the back alleyways and tunnels of mid-level Minas Tirith eventually brought them to an old, seemingly abandoned forge tucked into a small corner of the seedy metalwork district, the many workers present during the day long gone for the night, giving the place an eerie sense of abandonment.

Saf and Garem stole through the shadows, the pale moonlight glinting off his dark hair and the pinpoint of red light that was the tip of his smoke the only things she could see of him. He led her along, and she became aware that they were still holding hands then, and she let go quickly, feeling heat prickle along her cheeks.

Garem said nothing to her hasty movement, only motioning her to follow as they approached the forge. Before entering, he threw the last of his smoke into the alleyway next to the building and proceeded to hold the door for her. Hesitating only a little, she stepped inside the musty forge and was hit with the scents of ash and stale sweat, the air humid and hot as it washed over her.

Low voices came to her trained ears, but their words were indiscernible, and her eyes raked the building, though she could see no one.

Sensing her confusion, Garem pointed to a shabby staircase that led to a second level nearby, and she raised a brow, only getting an encouraging nod in response.

She sidled up the stairs quietly, Garem right behind her, and a sudden thought occurred to her when she sensed his close presence, making her stop and turn to face him.

She looked down at him as he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, and she raised a brow at his too-innocent look.

"Were you staring at my arse?" she asked bluntly, and he gave her a cheeky grin in return.

"I'd call it admiring rather than staring," he answered coolly, and Saf rolled her eyes and continued up, strangely exhilarated by his reply.

They came to the second level, where a catwalk loomed over the first floor, and Garem gestured her over to the railing, where she was given a clear view of the forge below.

She stepped up to the railing, placing her hands along the cool metal as she gazed down, her eyes landing on a man sitting slumped in a chair, encompassed by a dim circle of orange light as three other men stood before him, two acting as guards while one polished off a knife with a kerchief, looming over the man in the chair.

She recognized the three standing men as ones that had accompanied Garem to _The Crownless King, _and she couldn't help the tight breath of air she sucked in when the first man pointed the tip of his knife under the other's chin, and he began to squirm and moan in his chair as the shackles that had him chained there rattled against the dusty floor.

Saf felt her insides grow cold as she turned to Garem, seeing him watching the proceedings with detached coolness as he drew out another smoke.

"You're thugs," she said in disgust, taking a step away from him as the man below started to pray in a pleading moan. "Vigilante, indeed – all you do is keep this city in fear of leaving their homes after dark!"

"I am not a dishonorable man, Safavael," he said, and a shock went through her at the use of her name. "And neither are the men who work for me. _We_ are the ones who purge the city of scum like Mr. Merryfought down there."

His statement was accentuated by a sudden terrible scream from said Mr. Merryfought, yet she did not flinch, quite used to the sound as she glared at him coldly.

"Then you are no better than scum yourselves," she retorted, lifting her chin. "Those who inflict violence on their fellow men are seen as cowards amongst those who call themselves Rangers, and Eru Ilúvatar shows them no mercy in the afterlife."

"This all coming from a woman who told me she had forsaken the title of Ranger long ago," he observed drily, and she grit her teeth.

"Just because I am no longer a Ranger does not mean I have revoked the code of honor that binds all living beings together," she hissed, as Mr. Merryfought continued to scream. "Why are you torturing this man?"

"He raped a woman of noble birth," he said bluntly, and she flinched at the mention of such a heinous crime. "Her father, a lord of the city, contacted us because he knew the Steward's court of judges would take too long to reach a decision, and they would most likely exonerate him because he is wealthy and holds a large share of land in Osgiliath that is very beneficial to the realm. He wanted the crime treated as it should be, and so all we are doing is fulfilling his wish to see justice against the swine that violated his daughter."

His eyes met hers, unflinching as there was a sickening crack from below and then a pitiful moan, but she did not waver, her mind processing everything he was saying with the mentality of grinding clockwork gears.

"We are not thugs, nor gangsters, nor assassins or bodies for hire," he continued in a much lower voice. "We are men – and women – who deliver justice for those who cannot obtain it themselves."

There was another harsh cry from Mr. Merryfought, before there was a bubbling gurgle and all fell silent, and the whole time she did not look away from Garem, her gut churning and her brain working through everything he had said thus far.

Finally, her eyes locked with his, and after releasing a tiny sigh, she gave him a slight nod. "Tell me more."

* * *

**Present Day – TA 2941**

The sounds of the feast were growing fainter as Saf and Thorin trailed along the garden paths of the House of Elrond, each one silent and lost in thought as the waning crescent moon glowed softly above. Occasionally a strain of echoing music would reach out to them on the wind, a haunting melody that turned the nighttime symphony of crickets and air into a lament for the fast-fading summer, but the two still did not speak until they came to a halt before a short ivory gate, close to a small hill that overlooked the valley and the chattering river below.

Saf put her hand on the gate, her thumb tracing over the carved writings of the Tengwar as the cool surface kissed her palm gently, lending her a silent comfort in the dark as Thorin's eyes skated over the runes.

"I am not familiar with the tongue of the elves," he admitted grudgingly, pointing to the gate.

"I'm not, either," she said, shrugging slightly. "I can speak the language very well, but I've always had a hard time deciphering their writing. I only know what this says because an elf told me a long time ago."

She frowned as she recalled Glorfindel and her words to him at the feast earlier before she brushed it aside, gesturing at the gate. "It says 'Here lies those dearly departed from the world. May their spirits be reborn in full glory in the next life.'"

Thorin turned to her with raised brows. "So this is a cemetery?"

She nodded once. "It is."

He turned his gaze back to the gate, his eyes squinting slightly as if he could see what was beyond in the dark, but she knew that the graves were kept too far back for prying eyes. She pushed open the gate and started forward, turning around when his voice sounded again.

"You mean for us to go in there?" he asked warily, and his gaze was uneasy as he looked at some point over her shoulder. She couldn't blame him, though; she was asking him to enter a place of rest for his sworn enemies, but she had to believe he would follow her. It was instrumental if she were to gain his trust, finally.

"I will not force you to come if you do not wish to," she said coolly. "We may speak somewhere else if you'd like."

He seemed to chew on her words for a few moments, but finally, he inclined his head to her as he stepped past the gate, swinging it shut behind him. "Lead on."

And so she did, starting up the winding stone path that took them through sweet-smelling grass and willow trees that seemed bent with sadness, their tendrils trailing the ground like tears painting their way down hollow cheeks. Thorin walked along at her shoulder, his posture stiff, but not uncomfortable, and after a few minutes she spoke again.

"In the culture of the Dúnedain, those who forsake the title of Ranger and separate from the colonies become what are known as Wolfdancers," she said. "As I told you before, my mother disappeared in my youth, and I believed her to be dead because my father told me as such. It wasn't until later that I learned what she became, and after the death of my father, I went searching for her. My journey led me all over the West, until finally I gave up hope at Weathertop, and marked a grave for her there, eight years ago."

They rounded a bend in the path, and they were suddenly greeted by the sight of dozens of statues and plaques, all made of the same shining white marble that gleamed like new coins in the moonlight. Thorin gave no indication that he was taken aback by the beautiful sight, though she thought she heard his sharp intake of breath as she continued to meander along the path, walking slowly until he caught up to her again.

"So your mother became a Wolfdancer, then?" he asked, and she nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the impression of a fearsome elven warrior they strolled past, his spear still looking deadly sharp, even in a stone imitation.

"My mother loved her people, and her family, but she was a free spirit at heart," she said, trying to quell the edge of bitterness to her tone. "The Ranger life was not for her."

"Nor you?" He gave her a sidelong glance when she hesitated, blowing out a sigh that puffed out her cheeks before answering.

"I was not so much a free spirit as a lone wanderer," she said finally, suppressing the shiver that tried to roam down her back despite the warm night. "My mother left of her own volition; my leave taking was much less of a choice, in hindsight."

She cleared her throat, sensing herself straying too close to dangerous territory and trying to guide their conversation back to its original path. "When I came here with Gilraen and Estel, I learned from Lord Elrond that my mother had come to Rivendell a year prior to my arrival, ill and ready to die. She passed here, in another's arms, though I was not informed until much later on in my stay."

They suddenly came to a stop before a small statue, only standing about the height of a child, and Saf tried to ignore the prickle of pain that poked along her heart, though the grief at seeing the grave again washed over her anew as she stared at the depiction of her mother.

The detail was incredibly life-like, and she envisioned every one of her mother's traits despite the cold marble, from the flowing waves of ebony hair, to the eyes that were as dark a blue as the deepest parts of the sea, and the regal stature displayed even when etched in stone, the bow at her side only one of the testaments indicated that this woman was not a princess, but a warrior.

"This was she?" Thorin asked, his voice oddly subdued, and she turned to see him staring at her mother's grave, his eyes tinged with the slightest hue of some understanding, and she nodded.

"Thorin Oakenshield, this is Nadagréil Gimilnitîr," she said softly, giving him a wry smile. "My mother, the Star-kindler."

He said nothing, only continuing to gaze upon the grave, and she sighed again, her voice growing softer. "When she left…home did not feel like home anymore. I have traveled to places most men would sell their lives for, but I did not belong. Comfort never came easily to me, and I was never able to set down roots long enough for myself to integrate. Even in Archet, I knew I was an outsider. It was not home, no matter how much I wished it to be."

She shut her eyes, placing a hand on her abdomen as if to steady herself before she continued on. "Something inside of you is screaming, Master Oakenshield. It pounds against your ribcage and howls for you to take back your homeland. Everything about you speaks of home, though you do your best not to show it."

She opened her eyes again, slowly turning to face the dwarf, but he was not looking at her. His eyes were still fastened on her mother's grave, though she had a feeling he was not really seeing it, but rather something else.

"I've found that I feel quite the same as you do," she said quietly, "about wanting a home back. But I can never go home, and anywhere else doesn't feel like it." She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and realizing that if she spoke the next words sitting upon her tongue, there would be no going back. Gandalf had told her that she must make a choice, and now here she was, making it. "I will help you reclaim your home, Thorin Oakenshield; this I swear, quite literally, on my mother's grave, because I know what it's like to want it. And I hope you never have to feel this way again, which is why I will help you take it back if I can."

He finally looked to her, and she couldn't help but to grin slightly at the expression of sheer shock on his face – obviously he had not been prepared for her declaration.

"Why?" he asked eventually, clearing his throat. "Why would you willingly leave your only remaining family behind and risk your life for a quest that is not even yours, for dwarves you have known but a fortnight?"

"Call it the winds of fate tugging at me, or perhaps blame it on the grandiose words of a meddlesome wizard," she said, shrugging. "Or perhaps because it is the honorable thing to do in your time of need."

He scoffed at that, turning away from her and clasping his hands behind his back. "From what I have seen in the world, I believe there to be honor in few nowadays. Most would join this quest for the opportunity of exploiting our riches or taking the kingdom for their own."

"Well, consider me one of those few," she said, taking a step closer to him and feeling the stirrings of determination coiling inside her belly like fire. "I will not beg you to bring me along, but believe me when I say that I want to help you, Master Oakenshield."

"It is a dangerous world out there, Miss Saf," he said, and she started slightly when she realized that he had called her by her name, and not 'barmaid' or 'woman.' "There is no telling what kinds of obstacles we might face until we reach journey's end."

"A risk I am willing to take," she put in, only to wonder where this sudden fierce desire to join the quest was coming from.

He was silent for a long while, his back still turned to her, and she wondered if he might have become a grave himself as he did not move or speak, leaving her to cast her eyes to her mother's statue and convince herself that she did not see a smug smile chiseled on her marble lips as she awaited Thorin's answer.

Finally, a long exhale of breath released from the dwarf's lips, and he turned to face her again, his usual scowl set in place, but with a newfound fire lighting his eyes from within.

"We leave at dawn," was all he said before brushing past her and starting back down the path toward the gate, and it took her a few moments to absorb the words before she whirled to stare at his retreating back.

"Does this mean you're actually accepting my help, Master Oakenshield?" she called out wryly, and she heard his grunt as if he were still standing next to her.

"It means you will stop annoying me until you join us at the sun's first light," he replied moodily, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips when he had left her sight.

She turned back to her mother's grave, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long while, and after a moment's hesitation, she dipped her head to the statue, murmuring, "Thank you, Mother. I hope you have found peace."

There was no reply, but she imagined the stars shining above her grew a little brighter in response, and she gave them a soft smile before heading back to the gate and then her chambers, awaiting the dawn when she would be out in the wild again, heading for things unseen, but a future that looked far better than what it had in the past.

* * *

**Reviews are more precious than mithril; please don't hesitate to leave a comment or feedback!**

**The first part of this chapter was written all the way back in December, so if the two different parts go awfully together I'm truly sorry for that. I'm not going to make promises about when I'll update again, but I think taking this story off of hiatus for the time being will be a good start. Again, thank you for your patience! Y'all rock!**

**xx**


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